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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494434">Sanctuary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaKalomi/pseuds/LeilaKalomi'>LeilaKalomi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot of smut actually, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Dancer Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Gabriel is the worst, Genocide, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Lonely Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Violence, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Physical Abuse, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sex Worker Crowley (Good Omens), Sexual Repression, Sexy Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Verbal Abuse, and it's not Aziraphale/Crowley, its just discussed/suspected at some points, no abuse between Aziraphale and Crowley, racism and xenophobia, temporary major character death, there is no noncon in this fic, this fic is very political</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:53:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>72,746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaKalomi/pseuds/LeilaKalomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale, raised by the Archangel Gabriel in Lower Tadfield's cathedral, meets a beautiful dancer on his first foray out of the church. When Aziraphale's furtive adventure ends in disaster, he gives up on ever venturing out (or seeing the dancer) again. He doesn't expect the dancer to need his help, and he definitely doesn't expect to fall in love—or anything that comes after.</p><p>Based on Disney’s <em>The Hunchback of Notre Dame</em>.</p><p>next update mid-May.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Apple-bottom Jorts, Good Omens Human AUs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is based on Disney’s <em>The Hunchback of Notre Dame</em>, but it’s not set in France, and Aziraphale has not been written with any sort of physical difference from the Aziraphale we all know, except that he is younger. (He and Crowley are both about 26 for most of the action of this story.)</p><p>The story is set in the fictional country of Tadfield, which functions as a theocracy. Its leaders and authorities are entirely a part of the church, from high ranking officials like the Metatron (roughly akin to both a Pope and a Prime Minister) and Archangels, down to lower ranking Angels like Principalities and Guardians, who are basically law enforcement officers.</p><p>I have kept the technology roughly equivalent to what would have been available in England during the early 1940s; however it’s not completely accurate to say that the story is set in the 1940s, since I’ve made no references to anything that was happening in the world at that time (other than metaphorically).</p><p>I think everything else should be clear, but I wanted to point out these things before you start reading.</p><p>Oh, and buckle up, it’s a wild ride (please mind the tags)! Thanks so much for coming along!</p><p>And thanks to IsleofSolitude for the title!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Sanctuary!” the Demon woman shouted, her skin glinting in the lantern light as she ran across the courtyard. Sandalphon and his Guardians raced after her, in close pursuit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Like all of the denizens of Hell, she was marked with the sign of an animal. Gabriel wasn’t close enough to see which, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was Demons, slipping into Tadfield. What mattered was Angels, stopping them. Gabriel had just been named Archangel. The Archangel, in fact, in charge of policy and law, and he took his duties seriously. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sanctuary!” she shouted again.</em>
</p><p>Sanctuary<em>. Gabriel wouldn’t have expected a Demon to know that much. But perhaps she didn’t know quite enough. Sanctuary could only be evoked inside the church, and he would make certain she did not get there. As she reached the top of the stairs, he pushed open the door and blocked her entry, shoving her away.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Please!” she cried out. There was a cry, a child’s wail. In the night, it took him a moment to see that she carried a tiny bundle in her arms. A baby. A Demon child. Gabriel sneered, disgusted, as one of the woman’s hands scrabbled desperately at his vestments, clutching. “Help me!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He pried her hands from him in disgust and threw her from him. She screamed and fell back, tumbling down the stairs. Her body curled in on itself before she came to rest and lay blessedly still. He could see now the reason for the light glinting off her face: the silvery scales of a fish. If he had not known her to be a Demon, he might have mistaken the smooth scales for the gilding of an Angel, pressed into her face at ordination. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The child still wailed from where it had landed on the top step, unharmed. Its face was contorted as it shouted into the night. He feared it would wake the neighboring parishioners, and he picked it up and started for the font of holy water, in front of the church, thinking to dispatch it, but a hand closed over his shoulder. He could feel the cold of it through his cassock as he looked around. Michael. Though he was the Archangel in charge of Lower Tadfield’s laws, Michael was the Head of Lower Tadfield’s Church—and thus, the highest ranked of Lower Tadfield’s Archangels. The gold of her face shone in the moonlight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Gabriel,” she said. “That woman is dead. Do you understand the sin you have committed? And now you seek to compound it by harming an innocent child?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She is only a Demon. This is her child, a Demon, too.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Demon or no, you have killed, and you must atone. You will not harm this child. You will bring him up here in this church.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A Demon child?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Michael glared at him. “The child is your responsibility, Gabriel. Whatever he is.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel looked down at the small child, still crying, but no longer wailing. It was pale, with blond hair that shone in the moonlight. He lay it on the edge of the font and opened the swaddling. He would not defy Michael, but there were some things that could not be concealed. Where was this child’s mark?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But there was nothing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“This child,” he began. He remembered the Demon woman calling out for sanctuary. Was this child the bastard of a Demon and a member of the laity, or worse, an Angel? But when he looked up, Michael had gone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel pressed his eyes closed. “Lord, give me strength,” he prayed. “Help me to save and purify this abomination.” He opened his eyes and looked down at the child, which squirmed in the warm night air. He dipped his hand into the holy water and trailed it across its forehead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I baptize you,” he said. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit: I baptize you, Aziraphale.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not Aziraphael. Not a proper Angel’s name. A bastardized name for a bastard child. His burden.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Gabriel?” he turned, expecting Michael again, but there was only Sandalphon, the Archangelic Head of Lower Tadfield’s Law Enforcement, and one of his brutish Guardians.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Dispose of the body,” he said, wrapping the cloth back around the child. He picked it up and hefted it against him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What—?” Sandalphon began, looking at the bundle in his arms.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t wish to discuss it.”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <strong>About 25 years later</strong> </em>
</p><p>Aziraphale put the finishing touches on Gabriel’s homily for the week and folded the paper over itself, sealing it with green wax. Gabriel was protective of his homilies, and when it was his turn to give them, he did not want the other Angels to know what he would say before he said it, to realize that every word he spoke had been handed to him by his ward, his burden, his bastard—but no, not quite that. Because Aziraphale knew what he was. Even if he didn’t know where he’d come from, he knew that he wasn’t Gabriel’s, for all Gabriel kept him out of sight as if he were his secret to hide. That wasn’t about Gabriel. That was about Aziraphale. He wasn’t like other people: He wasn’t laity. Wasn’t an Angel. Wasn’t even a Demon. There was too much lacking in him, and there was nowhere else he could go.</p><p>“Aziraphale, love,” Ms. Tracy called as he started across the library. “Did you see this?” She rested her broom against a bookshelf and took a paper from the pocket of her apron. He looked down at it, attempting to read it, but she laughed and pushed it into his hands.</p><p>“Oh, dear! Careful,” he said, “The wax isn’t fully set on the seal.”</p><p>“Sorry, love,” Tracy said. “But please, take this. Keep it with you in a pocket or such until you’re in your room tonight. Might be something fun, something for you to look forward to.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. <em>Fun?</em> He rarely did anything he’d describe that way, except for afternoons on days when he delivered his homilies to Gabriel, and could slip away for the rest of the evening, finding the books he wasn’t supposed to read: the ones not about theology or the history of Tadfield and the neighboring land of Hell, which was constantly mired in civil war. Aziraphale liked to read poems, books of music and art, and best of all: novels, stories. Whole worlds in which he could escape and dream of things like adventure, things like fun.</p><p>“Oh, I think perhaps that’s best left for the books,” he said.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Tracy said. “Have a bit of real life for yourself.”</p><p>Aziraphale allowed himself a small, polite smile. Tracy was kind, indulgent, but she didn’t understand his role. She didn’t understand what he was. If he were to show his face...well. She’d gotten used to him, perhaps. Didn’t understand what an abomination he was. Who knew how the townspeople might react to the sight of him? Gabriel kept him separate to protect him. And maybe, Aziraphale could admit, to protect the others <em>from</em> him, and thereby save his soul. He was fortunate Gabriel had warned him about the world, about himself. He was grateful for Gabriel’s care. Gabriel, who had been anointed not at ordination by the hands of fellow Archangels, but by God Herself, at his birth: his violet eyes a mark of her favor.</p><p>“I’ll be back,” he said. “After I deliver this. We can...look at it together.” He held the paper back out to her without looking at it. But she shook her head. “It’s all yours, love. And I may not be here much longer. Still got to clean in the vestry. But let me know what you think.”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale handed the homily to Gabriel and endured his inspection. Gabriel tutted as his violet eyes swept over Aziraphale, his unruly pale curls, his soft stomach, his ink-stained fingers, and the tiny spectacles he had forgotten to remove before leaving the library. Gabriel set the homily on his desk, turning away from Aziraphale. He poured a small amount of sacramental wine into a tiny glass and took a sip.</p><p>Aziraphale wrung his hands uncertainly, keeping his pinky hidden. He wore a ring there, a ring Raphael had given him. <em>You should have this</em>, he’d said. <em>It’s only right that you keep it. You should have something from your family.</em> Gabriel knew about it, of course—it had been ten years since Raphael’s brief time at the church, but Gabriel didn’t like to be reminded of it, of the disgrace Aziraphale had brought to the kind Archangel.</p><p><em>You like him too much</em>, Gabriel had said. <em>Too much fondness between men is sin. It’s shameful. Is that what you wish for Raphael, who has shown you such patience? To shame him? Surely, you don’t mistake his pity for a similar regard?</em></p><p>Of course Aziraphale had not believed such a thing. He’d hardly understood, himself, at sixteen, the fluttering in his chest at the sight of the tall, slender man, the curl of his long, dark hair, the pull of his rare smiles (especially compelling when Aziraphale had somehow managed to induce them). He’d been Aziraphale’s final tutor, and like all of his tutors, he had seemed to find Aziraphale’s work satisfactory. But Raphael had told him he was clever. It was Raphael who had taught him how to ring the bells, Raphael who had shown him where the novels were. He hadn’t been like the other Archangels. He was eccentric, bookish. He did not spend his time vilifying Demons or creating laws or policies to enrich the Church. He wrote his own homilies (and Gabriel’s) and treatises for publication. He visited the poor and villagers in need. He helped people and was unfailingly kind to Aziraphale.</p><p>It was only later that Aziraphale had come to understand that he had not deserved such care. Gabriel had told him that someone of his proclivities was not fit to be taught, as he could not be trusted in polite society. He’d taken Raphael’s kindness and lessons of hope, then started to imagine more for himself, corrupting the kindness into sin in his mind. Greedy, he was, and worse: <em>lustful</em>. He’d never spoken of it to anyone—Raphael was an Archangel like Gabriel. Though he’d been newer to his position, and a great deal younger, he was nevertheless very much Aziraphale’s elder, and he’d been his tutor. When Raphael had been sent away, Aziraphale’s education had ceased. Aziraphale had begun writing his homilies then, taking on Raphael’s former duty. He’d been allowed to continue ringing the Sunday bells.</p><p>Gabriel had only let Aziraphale keep the ring because it had been his mother’s: A gold, feathered signet.</p><p>Now Aziraphale swallowed, and the noise must have been audible, because Gabriel turned as if he’d forgotten about him.</p><p>“Are you still here?” Gabriel said. “Go! The parishioners will be arriving soon. You mustn’t be here. Think what they’ll do if they see you!” Gabriel’s eyes swept over Aziraphale again, as if to emphasize his point.</p><p>Aziraphale felt his face redden and rushed away.</p>
<hr/><p>Back in the library, he went to the corner where the novels were kept and selected one. He enjoyed stories about romance—dashing, brooding heroes, maidens in need of rescue. He tried not to wonder why there always had to be a maiden. He tried not to, but he did. What did it matter, anyway? It was only a novel. No one would know what he thought. It was some moments before he recalled the paper Tracy had handed him and reached into his habit. He brought it out slowly and unfolded it, imagining this as some defining moment, some secret missive, as if he were in one of his novels. He was being silly, he knew, but it was a bit of fun, Tracy had said, and the evening was a free one. He was unlikely to be disturbed, what with Gabriel preparing for the evening service.</p><p>The paper, though, was hardly a secret missive. Instead, it was an advertisement of sorts.</p><p>
  <em>Book Fair</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Monday</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Noon to Midnight</em>
</p><p><em>Oh, how charming.</em> Perhaps he could see it from the tower, or even slip out to the gate, to see up close from behind the hedge. But then his eyes slid further down the page.</p><p>
  <em>Literature and Biblical Arcana knowledge competition to be held at Vespers. Prize: One (1) rare Agnes Nutter Bible</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale gasped. An Agnes Nutter Bible? As in, a bible hand-lettered by the late Agnes Nutter, who had interspersed the traditional verses with prophecies of her own?</p><p>Aziraphale collected misprinted or defective bibles. He had a shelf in his room for them. It had started when he was younger and Gabriel had given him a misprinted hymnal, <em>useless to the congregation</em>, <em>but perhaps better than nothing as a pastime for my ‘misprinted’ ward,</em> he had said, chuckling fondly. Over the years, Aziraphale had added to his collection, gradually narrowing his focus to bibles. Flaws in the presentation of the Word of God. Though what Gabriel said had hurt, he knew it was true, and he felt a kinship with these works, at once divine and profane.</p><p>But these defective bibles were not all created equal. Though the Agnes Nutter Bible was traditionally classed among them, it was not, technically a misprint. What was of the greatest significance, besides the fact that Tadfield itself could boast of being the home of Agnes Nutter and her still-living descendants, was that Agnes Nutter’s prophecies had so far all been <em>true</em>. <em>And</em> that there was only one known copy in existence. He <em>burned</em> with desire to read it, to run his fingers over the pages, to make it <em>his</em>, the pearl of his collection. It was pure avarice, he knew, of the worst kind, because it contained within it the seeds of pride. But he could not put it out of his mind.</p><p>And when Monday arrived, Aziraphale filled his washbasin so he could wash the ink from his hands and wet his hair down in private. Tracy had given him some pomade when he’d asked her what to do with his hair, and he’d brushed it in to tame it a little. Now, clad in brown trousers and an old sleeveless cashmere sweater Gabriel had given him, he tugged at the pale blue shirt underneath and finally fixed a tartan bow-tie at his throat, his fingers shaking. It was rare that he had occasion to dress in anything but a habit, but if Gabriel spotted him, he could say that he’d simply fancied a change. But really, if Gabriel spotted him, it was unlikely he’d make it off the church campus anyhow, and then there would be no reason to feel guilty at all. He swept his eyes over himself a final time. This was the best he could do. He looked neat. His clothes were clean. He could see nothing amiss, but he knew that didn’t mean much, not when the stain ran deep into his very fiber.</p><p>He knew the best way out of the church—and the best way out of the churchyard—without being spotted. He had never sneaked out before, but he knew which areas were secluded, which areas none of the Angels or lay staff visited, so he went down the back stair (which Gabriel preferred that he use anyway, to stay out of sight), and then around the side of the church. It was afternoon by now, nearly five, just over an hour before Vespers—before the competition. His heart pounded. Would he be allowed to compete? Would the townspeople recoil at the sight of him, at his presence, seeing what he could not? Would they recognize who he was? He would keep his distance, be quiet but mannerly. He would focus on the books, on answering the questions, collecting his prize, and slipping back to the church as Vespers ended. Gabriel did not lead Vespers—Aziraphale was not sure who was leading it tonight—but perhaps he would at least attend. At any rate, anyone devout enough to have caught a close glimpse of Aziraphale around the church would be unlikely to participate in a competition for a blasphemous bible at the same time as a church service. He should be safe. He repeated it to himself again. <em>This is safe. No one will notice. No one will see.</em></p>
<hr/><p>Just outside the churchyard, he ambled along the quiet village roads until he came into the square. Bookstalls lined the roads, and a bookshop along the way was lit up with strings of bright lights. A sign outside it advertised the competition, and a case set by the wall was guarded by a nervous-looking young man wearing glasses. Inside the case lay a thick book. The Agnes Nutter Bible. Aziraphale held his breath and allowed himself to step closer for a better look. Though there were people around the square, no one seemed to notice him, no one gasped with horror, or pointed, or withdrew. Several people nodded and smiled at him, and the young man at the case even greeted him.</p><p>“Hello,” he said. “Are you here for the competition?”</p><p>Aziraphale blushed and nodded. The man smiled and gave a great sigh of relief. “Oh, <em>good</em>,” he said. “I was beginning to worry that no one would turn up for it. There’s not many people around that would want a book of blasphemy! But it does make a good novelty item for the connoisseur. I’m Newton Pulsifer, by the way. And you are?”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated. His name was not a true Angel’s name, but it was close enough that if he offered it, it would raise eyebrows, gain attention. “Az...Ezra Fell,” he offered.</p><p>“Of course. Sorry. I’m sure we’ve met, but I’m really bad with faces and names,” Newton said, writing the name down in a little book. “Well, welcome! We still have some time before the competition, so feel free to look around. I’ve got your name...won’t start without you. Particularly if no one else turns up.”</p><p>“Thank you very much, Mr. Pulsifer.” Aziraphale said. Newton seemed very kind and sincere. Even as Aziraphale watched him carefully, he betrayed no sign of judgment or disgust.</p><p>“No, thank <em>you</em>!” Newton said. “And it’s just Newt, please.”</p><p>“Oh, do forgive me. Please.” Aziraphale registered, for the first time that the man was probably about the same age he was. Yes, people of an age did often use familiar names.</p><p>“Of course, yeah. No big deal.” Newt smiled again. “I mean, I should have said.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled again and Newt gave another shrug, clearly feeling awkward. Which was probably Aziraphale’s fault. So he turned away and wandered, looking over the other stalls. He examined some novels and ecclesastical volumes (which he had no money to buy) before he noticed the Alley. It was labeled thus, which surprised him. He’d read enough books that alleys seemed to him to be things that <em>happened</em> rather than things that were planned or named, but this looked to be an official alley. He stepped closer and stopped and stared at the sign in wonder for a moment before a flash of movement at the Alley’s end caught his eye.</p><p>There was someone down there, dancing, a small crowd assembled around them. Aziraphale caught bright flashes of crimson and glimmers of gold. The crowd down this way looked slightly less savory, he noted, men with scruffy beards and ladies in lacy things that might have been undergarments but for their long, full skirts. The person they’d gathered around, though, didn’t fit either of those descriptions. Though it had been difficult to tell from a distance, as Aziraphale moved closer to the spectacle, he could see that it was a man. His hair cascaded in loose waves over one shoulder, slipping to just touch the small of his back when he arched it, only to fall forward again as he dipped and swayed. He moved with an easy grace, his hips swinging with every step he took. His body was adorned with black leather so tight it looked almost as if it were part of him. Lace trailed him, tied at his waist, and he wore gold bracelets at his wrist and one wound around his upper arm in the shape of a golden serpent. His legs were long and his body chiseled and trim, like he was something out of one of the fantasy novels Aziraphale sometimes read. He held two scarves to catch the eye with their bright blue. And over his bare shoulders was—good Lord—an enormous black serpent that undulated along with him. Aziraphale gasped, not just at the serpent, but at how long it had taken him to notice it, so transfixed had he been by the man himself. Without realizing it, Aziraphale had come to stand at the front of the crowd, and as the song died down—oh yes, played by a small person with black hair and an odd headpiece playing a flute—the man fell to his knees almost at Aziraphale’s feet and bent back, so that the ends of his hair trailed in the dirt. The serpent slid down the man’s body, winding around him, highlighting the dip in his chest. Aziraphale felt a bolt of desire thread through him, felt his body stir.</p><p>The audience applauded. Aziraphale joined them. The man stood up, facing Aziraphale almost directly. Aziraphale’s heart pounded at his proximity. Then he looked up, into his eyes. The golden, slitted eyes of a snake.</p><p>A Demon. The man was a Demon.</p><p>Aziraphale took a hasty step back. He had never seen one this close before. The man smiled knowingly, looking right at him, his eyes traveling over Aziraphale’s form, making him go hot all over. Then he bowed, turned, and nodded at the flute player—Aziraphale realized the protrusion was no headpiece, but the ornamentation of an insect. Another Demon then. The flautist began to play again, and the man began his slow, rhythmic dance. Aziraphale stared, then tore himself away. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t let himself watch this, <em>enjoy</em> this.</p><p>And he <em>had</em> enjoyed it. Even now, his body remained affected. Aziraphale slumped against a wall, pressing his eyes closed. What was wrong with him? Was this it, then? What Gabriel had known to be true of him? Something in him drawn to the evil in people, perhaps even bringing it out in them? Would he have ruined Raphael truly with his regard, with his proximity, even. Raphael. He steadied himself, remembering what Raphael had taught him when his thoughts became too much. How to breathe. How to feel the air against his skin, listen to the sounds—in this case, the odd, buzzing flute, which wasn’t especially helpful—smell the air. Pastries...crepes? And pears. He liked pears.</p><p>He sighed, opening his eyes. Nothing terrible was happening. Had happened. He had seen a...a man. He had liked watching the man dance. Other people had liked it, too, if the crowd there was anything to go by. Perhaps liking it was not such a terrible thing, if not enjoyed to excess or distraction. After all, Demons—illegal though their presence was—had to make a living somehow. As far as Aziraphale knew, there was nothing prohibited about merely dancing. At least not for laity, and one would hardly expect a Demon to behave like an Angel. He would simply not go back. Which would scarcely be a hardship, when he never came out of the church anyway.</p><p>He slipped away, pretending not to notice the smell of the crepes, the glimmer of blue scarves and shining red hair as he turned back into the Alley and toward the village square.</p><p>It was time for the competition.</p>
<hr/><p>Newton—Newt—had been right about the general lack of interest in the competition. Only two other persons had turned up. One, a lovely-looking, serious-faced young woman about Aziraphale’s age who wore round spectacles and a black mourning dress, and the other, an angry-looking older man dressed much as Aziraphale was, though his sweater was red instead of tan, and he wore a blue bow-tie instead of tartan.</p><p>In addition to the players, Newton had clearly expected an audience, but the only other people in the bookshop seemed much more interested in perusing the shelves as part of the general festival than in observing the competition. In the end, Newton arranged three chairs in a small semicircle, then stood at the center of it. He read out the questions one by one. The angry man, Mr. Tyler, looked puzzled at a question about Agnes’s death—she had been burned horribly at the stake, but had concealed gunpowder and nails in her clothing to ensure she took out her executioners alongside her. Mr. Tyler, who in addition to not having passed in his paper to answer, looked offended when Newt read it out, and stormed off in a hurry, muttering about blasphemy and books that ought to be burned but weren’t worth this kind of freakish knowledge. Aziraphale eyed the woman and she looked warily back at him. He had the oddest feeling that he ought to recognize her somehow, and worse, that perhaps she knew him too. No matter, he told himself. He would stay the course, defeat this woman, get the book, and return to the church with his bounty, no harm done. Now that the race was narrowed to the two of them, Newt declared that the first person to miss a question would forfeit the prize.</p><p>“What is the name, among collectors,” Newt read out, “of the bible published in 1651 by Bilton and Scaggs—the same publishing house as Agnes Nutter’s bible, as a point of interest—in which verse five of the forty-eighth chapter of the Book of Ezekiel reads: “Bugger all this for a lark. I am sick to my heart of typesetting. Master Bilton is no gentleman, and Mr. Scaggs no more than a—”</p><p><em>The Buggre Alle This Bible! </em>Aziraphale scribbled as fast as he could, and handed his paper to Newt. He felt a sense of peace, satisfaction. The young woman across from him stared blankly, pressing her lips together. An expression of defeat. He tried not to smile as she handed her paper over to Newt, shaking her head.</p><p>Newt unfolded the papers and gave a sympathetic smile to the woman. “Ezra is our winner,” he said. “<em>The Buggre Alle This Bibl</em>e is correct. Congratulations, Ezra!” he fumbled around awkwardly for a moment, unlocking the case, then handed Aziraphale the book, grinning.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled and nodded, feeling almost too dazed to remember to respond. He thanked Newt, and looked around to offer a sympathetic look to the young woman, but she had already gone. Probably for the best, he thought, as he made his way back to the exit. He would make his way home quickly and be there before the Vespers crowd had completely dissipated. Though perhaps he was already too late for that—the young woman had matched him question for question until the very end, dragging the competition out longer than any of them had expected.</p><p>He paused at the door, looking out at the street. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but the vendors had cleared away their stalls even though the festival was supposed to continue until midnight. The crowd had thinned except for a cluster at the edge of the village, toward the Alley. Aziraphale stepped outside, feeling the cooling night air wash over him. It was humid; it felt like rain. The people in the cluster were shouting, throwing things. He edged closer, not to spy, he told himself, though he was curious. He would not go back down the Alley, he promised himself, but he did need to head roughly in that direction to get back to the church. He jumped back when he saw them: Sandalphon and two Guardians, standing like sentinels beside whatever the crowd had clustered around. He froze—would Sandalphon report him to Gabriel? But they didn’t seem to see him. He smelled food, but not like earlier: rotten, rancid things. He heard a hiss and the sound struck him as so unusual that he turned and his foot thwacked against a cage. The snake. The huge snake from earlier. But then—</p><p>“Demon!” called out a man.</p><p>“Filthy, disgusting...<em>tempter</em>,” snarled a woman, spitting on the ground.</p><p>Aziraphale looked up and his eyes fell on the man from earlier, the beautiful dancer, wearing a lace robe properly now, though it was open and torn, revealing his thin chest, dripping with what looked like tomato seeds and something brown and sticky in the thin, reddish hair across it. His leather trousers, too, were ripped at the bottom, over scuffed black boots. His head hung limply, as if he were unconscious, his beautiful hair plastered to the left side of his face, dotted with the same tomato seeds that spattered his chest.</p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale cried out, and pressed a hand to his lips, shocked at his outburst. But no one seemed to have heard. His bumbling had dislodged something, allowing the snake to get loose, and people near it were abandoning their heckling in favor of screams and starting to run as they realized what was happening. Sandalphon and the Guardians ran forward to restrain the reptile.</p><p>Aziraphale felt only relief that they had not seemed to notice him. If he was wise, he knew, he would turn now and slip away, back to the church. Instead, he stepped closer. The man looked up, suddenly alert, and his yellow eyes fell on Aziraphale. Oh, God. Aziraphale had never seen such cruelty. And this man—this <em>Demon</em>—well, Aziraphale had never seen such beauty either. Never felt such—</p><p>A woman gave a loud jeer, drawing his attention as she scooped up a handful of mud.</p><p>“No!” Aziraphale shouted. Without thinking, he jumped forward and held the book out in front of the man’s lovely face. The mud spattered it and himself, and he winced, only now realizing what he had done. The book, though, could be saved. Cleaned. The stain removed, even if he’d always know it was there, beneath: the reminder of what he’d done and why.</p><p>The woman had abandoned her efforts, having spotted the snake and turned away, edging back gradually until she began to run, too.</p><p>Aziraphale set the book down carefully on the path where the man was tied, and leaned forward to examine the knots. When he’d been a boy, Shadwell, the gardener, had taught him knots of all kinds. He took a steadying breath now, and tried to remember. He felt sweaty, and there was a sick swooping in his stomach. He thought he might vomit, but he reached out, took the rope in his hand and began to ease the loop.</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing?” the man said as Aziraphale drew an end up and through. The man’s hand twitched as the rope loosened, and Aziraphale saw that his fingernails were painted gold.</p><p>“Not sure,” Aziraphale said. “But this...well, certainly, there doesn’t need to be <em>this</em> kind of cruelty. You may be a Demon, but <em>really</em>. You were only dancing.”</p><p>“<em>Was</em> I?” he said. His voice was odd, a trilling sort of brogue. Not deep, but rolled in his throat as if it were. Aziraphale could feel the vibrations of his speech through the rope. “Was that all it was I was doing? Just a bit of <em>innocent</em> dancing? Nice little gavotte with a <em>kiss</em> at the end? Oh...you’d <em>like</em> that, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s hands were already shaking, and now his face reddened. He felt wobbly all over, but his fingers continued to work.</p><p>“Hey!” A gruff voice rang out.</p><p>“I—” Aziraphale began, turning as the man slid his hand out of the final knot and gave a quick, darting glance at something behind him, and bolted. He turned. The snake had <em>not</em> been wrested back into the cage, he saw, and was now making its way through the village, idly terrorizing passersby as Sandalphon and the Guardians realized their prisoner was now free. But then there was Gabriel, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, and was standing in front of him, tutting mildly at an out-of-breath Sandalphon as the Guardians ran past them down the Alley, presumably after the escaping Demon. Aziraphale cringed as Gabriel leaned forward and grabbed him by the ear.</p><p>“How <em>dare</em> you,” he began. “You ungrateful little <em>bastard</em>. What do you think you’re <em>doing</em>? That was a Demon, Aziraphale! A Demon! How dare you leave the home I have made for you? The veritable, literal <em>sanctuary</em>, where I have shouldered the burden of keeping you safe in spite of all that you are. And what’s more, how dare you <em>interfere</em> with my life’s work of protecting this city?”</p><p>Sandalphon shook his head, narrowing his eyes at Aziraphale. Aziraphale swallowed and tried to look away, but Gabriel’s grip tightened. Aziraphale squirmed against it, pressing his lips together. He knew from experience that crying out would not stay Gabriel’s hand, and might earn him even rougher treatment.</p><p>“Come with me, right <em>now, </em>sunshine!”</p><p>Aziraphale was powerless to resist. He did try to reach down for his ruined book, but as Gabriel forced him away, he saw that it was gone, and the man he’d freed was gone too. Demons were thieves, he remembered Gabriel saying. Oh, dear. He had been a fool.</p><p>The townspeople stared as Gabriel marched him down the village square and to the first side road past the Alley. He could never come back here even if Gabriel let him out of sight—they’d know him now. No book, no freedom. No privileges back at the church, he was sure.</p><p>And he didn’t even know the Demon’s name.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Interlude 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabriel narrates his perspective of the scene at the end of Chapter 1.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: imagined, nonspecific dubcon, but nothing actually comes of it. If this warning worries you and you'd like more details, please see the end note or feel free to message me on here, tumblr, or Discord.</p><p>This is the last time we will hear directly from Gabriel for several chapters, and chapter 2 will be up on schedule next week.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>The Demon danced and Gabriel watched, as he’d done every Friday for the last month. He pretended to be examining trinkets in one of the shops in the square: books, jewelry, household goods, groceries. He visited the tailor for new cassocks and suits for day wear, so he could pull back the curtain when he tried on the new pieces to sneak glimpses of the Demon’s hair trailing, the lace tied at his waist, the scarves he wove around him, the bracelets sliding up and down the trim, graceful cording of his arms. He allowed his eyes to roam over his chest as the snake slithered down him, over the swell of slight, strong muscles, the sharp edges of him cutting through the air as he moved. He was—well, not </em>beautiful<em>, exactly, because how could a Demon be </em>beautiful<em>? But he was captivating, alluring. Tempting. It was wrong for Gabriel to lose himself this way, but how could he be blamed for succumbing to a temptation this strong? It was the Demon who was at fault, not Gabriel. Not Gabriel, who had always been righteous, driven only by what he knew to be Her wishes for the world, Her divine plan for him and for all of Tadfield.</em></p><p>
  <em>Demons—even this...delectable one—did not fit within those plans, but perhaps Gabriel could be forgiven his one sin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was a festival that Friday, and the crowd was thicker than usual, the Demon harder to see through them, so Gabriel made his way outside to get a better look. He lingered outside a bakery and was startled when he was greeted with a gruff “Sir? Shall I make an arrest?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel looked around and saw a Guardian standing there, saw Sandalphon edging nearer. There was nothing for it but to nod, to ignore the way his throat closed up and his tongue felt thick, his mouth too wet. They would bring the Demon to a holding cell. Gabriel could send the guards away, interrogate him all on his own. Could, perhaps...make him an offer? He gave a cough, forcing his body to behave. It wouldn’t do to let himself go. Wouldn’t do to give in to this before he was certain he could have it. But this particular Demon...Gabriel was a handsome man of extremely high status. He could give the Demon money, certainly, could promise to look the other way. The Demon would be fortunate to have him as a patron.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He watched as the Angels moved through the crowd, as the spectators ran and walked and watched. The Demon’s flute player and the other two he’d noticed lurking nearby whenever he danced vanished almost before Gabriel had the chance to notice it. No loyalty among them. This Demon would be lucky to have the chance to please Gabriel, to get on his good side. It wasn’t, after all, something available to most Demons.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He tugged at his cassock, observing as the Demon, surrounded now by Guardians instead of an entranced audience, tugged on the flimsy lace garment, and handed over his snake, setting it obediently inside a cage and going still as his wrists were bound, as they dragged him and bound him by the wrists to a whipping post. Would they whip him? Gabriel was torn. Doubtless he would enjoy the spectacle, but it did seem a shame to leave marks on that lovely skin, especially before he’d had the chance to...no, he would not succumb to these thoughts. But the Guardians simply left him there, standing guard nearby as people began to reassemble around him, blocking Gabriel’s view as they jeered and threw trash and mud, Gabriel turned away, lifting his chin, and let himself into the nearest shop, a tobacconist’s. He ignored the strange looks he got from the proprietor. There was no rule saying an Archangel could not partake of tobacco (though Gabriel certainly had no intentions of sullying the holy temple of his body). And It wasn’t long before the man abandoned his wariness and approached, smiling and offering his support of the bill Gabriel had enacted two years ago now, to prevent the Demons from holding even the most menial jobs that rightfully belong to Tadfield’s citizens.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he made his way back outside, it was to see something that couldn’t be. The crowd had again dispersed, and indeed, there was chaos: the Demon’s snake was making its way down the main path—Gabriel himself barely dodged it, but across the square, Aziraphale—<em>Aziraphale</em>—had his hands on the ropes, stood not a foot from the Demon, who was eyeing him lasciviously. Gabriel fought a roil of nausea, focused instead on his incredulity. How was Aziraphale even here?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“The snake is loose,” Sandalphon said, running past him. He didn’t seem to see Aziraphale at all, or what he was doing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel strode across the square, his jaw set.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey!” someone shouted, seeming to notice Aziraphale, but Sandalphon and his Guardians were too far away now to catch him, though they tried.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel let out a heavy breath and was on Aziraphale nearly before he looked up. His hand shot out, almost of its own accord and pinched Aziraphale’s ear, the hard cartilage of it. Pleasure flooded through him as Aziraphale winced, but Gabriel did not loosen his grip. This was for his own good. And so were the words Gabriel spoke to him, loud enough that the townspeople would hear, would know who Aziraphale was now, so they could tell Gabriel if he ever dared to show his face in the village again. He could not allow Aziraphale to thwart his work, to interfere with Her divine plan. He could not allow Aziraphale to succumb to the temptation meant for him. And he did not like the way that Demon had looked at Aziraphale. It disgusted him. He told himself, though, that it was probably just the way he looked at everyone. After all, a Demon wouldn’t know anything about Aziraphale, about his many failures and shortcomings. But Aziraphale…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel thought of Raphael.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, perhaps the Demon knew enough.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Gabriel fantasizes about having Crowley at his mercy if he is arrested. When he observes the scene Aziraphale interferes with at the end of chapter 1, Gabriel feels pleasure at the thought of seeing Crowley whipped, and he enjoys hurting Aziraphale when he drags him back to the church by the ear.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Aziraphale receives punishment for his transgression—and a surprise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: confinement; masturbation; emotional/verbal abuse; references to past physical abuse; thinly veiled political commentary.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gabriel was taciturn on the walk back except to admonish Aziraphale to keep up, and even as he jerked Aziraphale up the stairs and shoved him into his tower room, he did not speak. Aziraphale heard the click of his key in the lock. He tried the door, but that only confirmed it. He’d been locked in.</p><p>“Wait—Gabriel, please!” Aziraphale called. But it was no use. Gabriel’s footsteps were already retreating.</p><p>Aziraphale threw himself onto his bed and drew his knees in, shaking. His ear throbbed. His hands were sticky from touching the food-spattered ropes that had bound the Demon, and as he looked down at them, he pictured the man’s skin, lightly bronzed from the sun, the hairs on his chest that had shone in the ebbing sunlight. He tried not to think of the way the man had looked at him, that <em>“Nice little gavotte with a kiss at the end. Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”</em> He had sounded surprised, but not shocked, like he’d have given Aziraphale a kiss, if Aziraphale admitted he wanted it. Which was absurd, of course. Aziraphale didn’t—<em>couldn’t</em> want such a thing. He <em>knew</em> it was wrong, and he tried to be a good person. Or at least, the best person he could be. Under the circumstances. Which…</p><p>Oh, dear God, he was a complete failure. Why had he touched the ropes at all? Why had he felt his heart quicken at the nearness of a Demon, of the feel of his voice vibrating through the ropes that had bound his svelte body, the way he’d looked, leaning his head toward Aziraphale, even as the rest of him was unable to move.</p><p>Why had he gone to a Demon, when he’d known what he was?</p><p>Was it really only the shock of the cruelty, as he’d told himself, as he would have tried to explain to Gabriel if he’d only asked?</p><p>Or was it something else? Something base, something rank and vile inside of him. The same something that had caused his <em>body</em> to stir at the sight of the other man’s, at the way he had moved, the way he had arched his back just before standing, his clothing straining against him as he thrust his...his...oh, it was too much. Aziraphale couldn’t even think these thoughts. Even now, they stirred him, and he felt sick at the knowledge of what he wanted, what it meant.</p><p>He writhed uncomfortably atop his small bed, ashamed at the way his skin cried out for touch until he could hold back his tears no longer and he let them fall as he slid gradually into sleep.</p><p>The next morning when he woke, Aziraphale felt his body thrumming and bit back the fear. All right, perhaps...perhaps it would be prudent to allow himself to examine exactly what it was that he wanted. If he did that, he could find fault with his reason, and argue himself out of it.</p><p>The man—the Demon—had been...oh, there was no use pretending: he had been beautiful, glorious. Aziraphale desired him; he wanted to...kiss him. To sink his hands into that long, shining hair, wanted to feel it against his face. Was that really so awful?</p><p>But that wasn’t all he wanted. His body was making that clear as he allowed himself these thoughts. But Aziraphale could be strong. He would be brave and think his way through this. He closed his eyes and pictured the Demon again, his chest bare as it had been beneath his lace jacket—almost like the illustration of a woman’s peignoir Aziraphale had seen in one of his books. His trousers had looked nearly painted into place. In his mind, the Demon sank to his knees in front of Aziraphale, twisting his body back, back, thrusting his chest and pelvis toward Aziraphale, the peignoir slipping off his arms. Aziraphale pictured himself stepping forward, falling to his own knees, bending down. He pictured the Demon’s smile.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?</em>
</p><p><em>Touch me,</em> the Demon said, in Aziraphale’s mind. Aziraphale turned over on the bed, moved his hips against the mattress, gasping at the sensation. <em>Yes,</em> the Demon said, rolling his hips. Aziraphale rolled his own. This was what he wanted. It wasn’t logical at all, but perhaps he ought to follow it to its end.</p><p>He already knew now, of course, where it would end. He was no stranger to stimulating himself, but this felt different somehow. He did it anyway, thinking of the Demon, letting his hands touch, grasp his own flesh, pretending it was the Demon’s, that it was the Demon’s long, gold-tipped fingers that dug into Aziraphale’s skin.</p><p>He came inside his trousers and as the waves of pleasure subsided into blankness, he stood up, unbuttoning the garment, alarmed and humiliated. What had he done? And now the stained trousers would simply have to be put aside as he was not allowed out to launder them. Unless...He tried the door but, no, it was still locked.</p><p>Using the cold water left in the basin from yesterday, he washed himself gingerly and dressed in his habit, pressing his hands to his mouth.</p><p><em>Tempter</em>, the woman had called the Demon. Perhaps it was true, and Aziraphale was not to blame for his feelings.</p><p>Not to blame for feelings, perhaps, he thought, but certainly to blame for what he’d done with them. And he’d...oh God, he’d freed a Demon. He’d...abused his own body while imagining an act of sin.</p><p>How could he have imagined that the villagers—that <em>anyone</em>—couldn’t see him for what he was?</p><p>He prayed for forgiveness, but it didn’t feel quite like the thing, so he stopped, realizing that what he felt was more shame than proper guilt.</p><p>He <em>didn’t</em> regret what he’d done in the village. There <em>had</em> been cruelty there. If the person they’d tied up in the square—the person facing such hostility and indignity—had been another man, Demon or no, or a woman, or a child, Aziraphale knew he would have done something. Perhaps he wouldn’t have acted so instinctively, wouldn’t have been moved in quite the same way, but still. There were no circumstances under which he would have felt that what happened there was right. It wasn’t possible for someone—anyone—to deserve that treatment, and certainly not for...well, dancing. Even very <em>tempting</em> dancing.</p><p>And the ache in his chest, more than having disappointed Gabriel, more than confronting his own secret shame, had at its source other things Aziraphale did not want to consider: He had lost the book. And worse still, he would never see the Demon again.</p>
<hr/><p>Tracy brought him food that afternoon. A whole baguette, three pears, a small jug of wine and a basket of scones with clotted cream and jam.</p><p>“Had to take what I could get away with,” she said, winking. “I am sorry, love. Didn’t think Gabriel would be there.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared. No mention of the escape he’d orchestrated, or the scene he’d caused. She didn’t know what he’d done?</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “There was a Demon. Dancing.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said, nodding. “Yes. There is one...draws a crowd.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt his face growing hot. He wished Tracy would look away, but she did not. His hands shook as he held the tray.</p><p>“I should—” He turned away and set the tray down on his little desk. “Set that down,” he finished, offering her a smile.</p><p>“Your ear’s red, love” she said, even though Aziraphale knew his whole face must be as well. “Did Gabriel—”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Aziraphale said. “I...did something terrible.”</p><p>“I don’t believe that for one minute,” Tracy said. “Disobeying Gabriel, whether he’s got the eyes of God or not, is no mortal sin.”</p><p>Aziraphale blanched at the blasphemy, but tried to set it aside. “That’s not what I mean,” he said.</p><p>“Isn’t it, though?”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. No, of course not, he’d set free a captive Demon—surely Tracy had heard that. Even if Gabriel or Sandalphon hadn’t mentioned it, likely it would be all over Lower Tadfield by now.</p><p>“Didn’t you hear?” he tried, his mind still whirling. Setting a Demon free was worse than disobeying Gabriel, surely. But was it? There was nothing in any bible about Demons. Oh, <em>that</em> sort of demon obviously <em>existed</em> as far as the Bible was concerned. But not <em>Demons</em> as in the unfortunately labeled people from the neighboring country of Hell. After all, Tadfield’s Angels were hardly the angels of the Bible. And it was hardly written anywhere Holy that Hell’s citizens should be kept out of Tadfield even if their only other option was death at the hands of their own countrymen. After what Tracy had said about Gabriel, Aziraphale began to wonder if he wasn’t alone in wondering why it was so important to keep them separate, keep them out.</p><p>Was it possible he hadn’t done anything so bad, after all? And if that was true—</p><p>“Oh, dear, someone’s coming, I’d better go. You eat.”</p>
<hr/><p>On the third day, a lower-ranked Angel who he didn’t know—a Dominion, he thought—brought him his food and told him that he was wanted in the vestry. He was to go straight there as soon as he had eaten. As if the instruction had not been clear enough, the Dominion waited at the end of the hall until Aziraphale let himself out of his bedroom and followed him as he carried his tray down the winding stairs to the staff kitchen in the main body of the church.</p><p>The Dominion then escorted him to the vestry, where Gabriel was waiting for him.</p><p>“I need a homily, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said in lieu of a greeting. “Write me one. Why don’t you focus on redemption and atonement?”</p><p>“Gabriel,” Aziraphale began. “Might I offer an explanation? For my behavior?”</p><p>“Save it, sunshine. Write me a homily and then we’ll talk. And you know what? Write me a <em>good</em> homily, and maybe I’ll even listen.”</p><p>But once the homily was written, Gabriel only took it from him and sent Aziraphale away. The Dominion was waiting for him outside the vestry. He took Aziraphale back to his room and locked him in again.</p><p>The next afternoon, the same Dominion came again with another tray of food. Again, he waited as Aziraphale ate, then escorted him to the vestry.</p><p>“Write me a homily,” Gabriel said. “The one you wrote yesterday is useless.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. He couldn’t imagine why.</p><p>“What, exactly, was wrong with it?” he said. “So I can be sure to fix it.”</p><p>“Shut your mouth, Aziraphale, and write another sermon.”</p><p>“On the same topic?” Aziraphale said, in a small voice.</p><p>“On temptation and the Fall of man.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. He wanted to ask if he might refer to any books, which were all in the library where he couldn’t currently access them, but Gabriel had demonstrated that he was not receptive to questions. As soon as Aziraphale agreed, Gabriel stormed out of the vestry, leaving him alone with the Dominion, as if he could not stand the sight of Aziraphale any longer.</p><p>Finally, on Saturday, when the Dominion brought him to the vestry, Gabriel was not there. Michael sent the Dominion away.</p><p>“Should I wait for him outside?” the Dominion asked.</p><p>“No need,” she said. He nodded and retreated, looking grateful as he closed the door behind him. Aziraphale’s heart pounded. Michael, who oversaw the church, who oversaw even Gabriel. She had never been cruel to him, but they did not generally interact at all. Would she tell him he had to leave? Then what would he do? He had no family. No friends outside the church. Perhaps Tracy...but no, he couldn’t ask that of her. She and Shadwell both might lose their positions.</p><p>“Sit down, Aziraphale,” she said. When he had done so and was attempting to make himself comfortable in the large, stuffed armchair she had directed him to, she went on. “Gabriel explained to me what happened. How you set free the Demon and his familiar.”</p><p><em>Familiar</em>, Aziraphale thought. As if they were witches. He hesitated, longing to point out the error, but unable to bring himself to contradict her.</p><p>“And do you know what I think?” Michael went on.</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“I think this kind of rebellion is natural. Normal, for someone who has otherwise been so constrained. I am sorry it has been so difficult for you here, Aziraphale.”</p><p>Michael watched him carefully as she spoke these last words, as if waiting for the right answer.</p><p>“Of course not, it hasn’t been...<em>difficult</em>. I haven’t felt...That is, I mean to say, I am very grateful.”</p><p>“Of course. I don’t doubt that. You should be. But perfection is not something we can expect you to attain. I have told Gabriel this. You are not an Angel, after all. Not properly laity, either. It must sometimes be difficult for you to know your place. So I will help you. There is a great deal, Aziraphale, that you don’t understand. About the world, and perhaps in particular about Demons, and the threat they pose to our way of life here in Tadfield. I know that your education has been somewhat irregular, so I will make the church’s stance on this clear. Demons do not share our ways of thinking. They do not pray to our God. They do not share our morals. That is why they are prohibited from entering Tadfield in such numbers. You read your novels—oh, yes, Aziraphale, I know about your novels—and you read your Bible, but you really don’t know much of the world, do you? You think that because they are not actual demons from Hell, there can be no cause for us to shun them. You think, perhaps, that the word <em>demons</em> is unfairly applied to them. I have heard that argued. You have doubtless heard it as well, yes?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. Michael lifted her chin and gave a satisfied tilt of her mouth before going on.</p><p>“But what the proponents of that argument do not understand is that the Demons use the word for themselves. Now, ask yourself, what right-thinking member of the laity would gladly align themselves with the devil himself?”</p><p>“I—” Aziraphale began. He stopped himself, expecting to be cut off again, but Michael only waited, looking at him with a kind of prim satisfaction. “I’m not sure,” he conceded. “But surely it doesn’t justify cruelty. On our part.”</p><p>“And yet you loosed a serpent on Tadfield,” Michael said, shaking her head sadly.</p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He hadn’t even considered that. And here he was, pretending at righteousness. Of course she could see straight through him. “It wasn’t my intention. Did...did the snake hurt anyone?”</p><p>Michael shook her head. “The snake was captured, delivered to one of our associates in the City. You remember Raphael? He knows how to care for reptiles.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s heart thudded. <em>Raphael</em>. He wanted to ask after him, but he didn’t dare. He tugged at the belt of his habit, which suddenly felt too tight, though he had eaten only single meals for days.</p><p>Michael sighed. “I am going to bring in Gabriel now, and leave the two of you to talk. Make amends with him, Aziraphale. Remember that he is touched directly by the hand of God, that she sees all through his willing eye.”</p><p>She opened the door and Gabriel strode in, as if he’d been standing in the hall, listening the whole time. Aziraphale gave an involuntary shudder and got to his feet.</p><p>Gabriel didn’t look at him or even acknowledge him as Michael shut the door. He moved through the little room and slapped down a sheath of papers on the desk. Aziraphale recognized the papers: the homilies he had written over the past two days.</p><p>Gabriel pulled out the desk chair slowly, turned it around, and sat, facing Aziraphale, looking at him with a kind of impatient anticipation.</p><p>“Talk, then,” he said. “If you have so much to say. Or was that all? Worried people are mean to the Demons? Forgetting about your own responsibilities—setting loose a vicious animal on the innocent laity? Not to speak of your lapsed responsibilities within the cathedral.”</p><p>Lapsed responsibilities? But Aziraphale knew better than to point out that he’d taken care of his duties for the day of the Fair before leaving, that anything he hadn’t done over the past few days was because he’d been locked away.</p><p>“Perhaps I should have asked <em>Sandalphon</em> to stop them from throwing garbage at the Demon,” Aziraphale said. “Would that have been better? Only, I do feel that there’s no reason to be cruel. I did really feel I ought to do <em>something</em>.”</p><p>“Cruelty is relative,” said Gabriel, “If you knew what he <em>was</em>, if you knew what he’d <em>done</em>, you might find it was a fitting punishment.”</p><p>“Ah, yes,” said Aziraphale. “But do you not think there are some things that it’s not possible to deserve? Not even as punishment?”</p><p>Aziraphale realized his mistake as soon as he’d spoken.</p><p>“Well, this is an interesting turn,” Gabriel said. “Next you’ll tell me that you don’t believe in the existence of the metaphysical Hell, that it’s therefore nonsensical to call the denizens of the <em>earthly</em> Hell Demons. Then you’ll claim there is no Heaven, and thus, no reason for us to call ourselves Angels.”</p><p>“No! I—” Aziraphale said. “That isn’t what I meant at all. Only that...well, judgment—that’s for <em>Her</em> to decide, isn’t it? Not us. Or...Angels. At least, not the earthly sort.”</p><p>Gabriel’s jaw worked. Aziraphale steeled himself. Gabriel had only actually hit him once—he’d stolen a whole pie from the kitchens when he was ten—but this was what his face had looked like before it happened. But now Gabriel gave a sigh and rolled his shoulders back. He brought his hand down firmly against the side of the chair as if bracing himself in place.</p><p>“Do you think…” he began, “that it escaped my notice the way the Demon looked? The sort of…” Gabriel waved a hand. “The way he conducts himself? All that hair and gold, legs and hips everywhere? Do you think I’ve forgotten that you might be...<em>susceptible</em> to that sort of thing?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s chest tightened uncomfortably. He felt that if he breathed, it would somehow give him away, so instead, he held himself very still and tried not to worry about the heat in his face, the blush Gabriel could doubtlessly see.</p><p>“I know what you are, sunshine. And that you would dare try to hide your very <em>sin</em> behind a <em>sense of righteousness</em>? Don’t talk to me, Aziraphale, about <em>your </em>knowledge of what is good and right. I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel. You listen to <em>me</em> about what’s right. Do what <em>I</em> say. And don’t <em>ever</em> pretend to be good to hide your own evil. I know what you are. Inside. No matter what you <em>do</em>. Remember, <em>I know you</em>. You can’t hide from the eyes of God, Aziraphale.” Gabriel touched just beneath his right eye.</p><p>“Of course. I am so very sorry, Gabriel,” Aziraphale choked out. He felt he’d break under the strain of the shame. How could he have been so foolish? How could he...he couldn’t trust himself at all, could he?</p><p>“That’s good. Go now,” Gabriel said, his jaw working. Aziraphale stood up and edged toward the door, relief already creeping in. But there was something stopping him from giving over to it. As if to assert the problem for him, his stomach rumbled and he sighed. He didn’t want to make Gabriel angrier, but he had to know. He turned and looked at Gabriel, then away when he saw how his violet eyes narrowed. He glanced out the window into the courtyard outside the vestry, a flash of red behind the shrub. A bird, perhaps.</p><p>“Back to...to my room?”</p><p>“You know, I really don’t care where you go,” Gabriel said. “But—and I can’t believe I have to say this—don’t leave the church. And stay out of my sight.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded.</p><p>“Oh, and Aziraphale, you’ll ring bells for Prime, Terce, and Vespers every day. That way I’ll know where you are without having to see you.”</p>
<hr/><p>It was still some time until Vespers, and this was more freedom than Aziraphale had had all week. First he went to the showers, then to the laundry. Finally, with his neglected chores behind him, he took a book and a substantial picnic to a secluded spot on the grounds, where he sat for a few hours, trying to regain some sense of equilibrium. The book helped, and so did having a full stomach, but even after a few hours, he still felt restless. He decided to take a walk around the grounds until it was time for Vespers. He kept to the edges of the grounds, peering out at the thin spots in the hedges at the village, the rows of residences, and in one spot, the little strip of shops visible from the grounds. When he was fairly certain Gabriel would be at his usual early dinner and not in the vestry, he slipped into the courtyard to examine the flowers there this time of year.</p><p>He ran his fingers over the soft striped petals of tea roses, and breathed their warm, sweet scent. Then he bent to examine the waxier, bolder tulips in cheerful orange and yellow. Aziraphale liked to sit here and read, and seeing it now, standing there over the little pool at its center, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. He offered his thanks to God, and started for the bench, where a Bible sat, almost like a sign, he thought. He would pick it up and find some verse to soothe him, something to meditate upon. The stone of the bench was warm in the sun, and he sat down and luxuriated there a moment before he turned and reached for the bible. But then he froze, his hand stopped, his chest seizing at what he saw there.</p><p>
  <em>The Holy Bible: With Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter</em>
</p><p>The book. <em>His </em>book. Clean and whole. How had it—? Was this some sort of trick? Had Gabriel somehow put it here, and hidden, ready to watch him blaspheme? Aziraphale looked around even as his mind worked, running over the events of the terrible ending to his single day of freedom.</p><p>But the book had already been gone when Gabriel had dragged him away. And the other Angels had already run off after the…</p><p>The Demon. But—good lord, was he <em>here</em>? Aziraphale remembered that flash of red he’d seen from the vestry.</p><p>Against all good sense, his heart began to pound again, more in a kind of eager anticipation than in fear. He picked up the book. Perhaps it would be best, then, to go now, to take his prize and hide it away, somewhere safe, in case the Demon came back for it. Would he fight for it? Would he hurt Aziraphale?</p><p>But—</p><p>“Hello,” called Aziraphale. His voice shook. With fear, not hope, he told himself.</p><p>But there was no reply.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale and Crowley have another encounter, and this one doesn’t end so quickly.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: essentially a police chase; references to a hypothetical sexual situation that could be considered dubcon. It stays completely hypothetical and no one is hurt, but if you have concerns, please see the endnote. I feel like this note makes it sound worse than it is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale dawdled in the courtyard too long to take the book back to his room before Vespers. In the end, he tucked it, with his other book, into his satchel and scurried to the tower before the ringing of the bells was so late it interrupted the service. It wouldn’t do to set Gabriel off again so soon. Bells rung, he looked out over the grounds, before sinking back down to read more of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies. He’d dreamed of the book for so long, and it was exciting to finally run his eyes over the text, seeing what she had predicted that had already come to pass. Then, as he heard the church doors begin to open again below, he ran to the balustrade and looked out again. He told himself he was only watching the parishioners, the few who trickled into a Vespers service the night before Sunday mass. He told himself he was not looking for a Demon.</p><p>Even so, he watched for a long time, then gathered the books into his satchel to head back to his room. It was then, as he turned away from the bells, back toward the door, that he saw it. A flash of movement at the edge of the grounds, a dark shape, moving through the night. Two figures after it, illuminated by the torches flashing in their hands. He glanced again at the dark shape, the hair trailing on the wind. The face partially obscured, as if there was something—dark glasses, perhaps—over the eyes.</p><p>The eyes.</p><p>Aziraphale ran, pulling up his hood against the chill. Down and down and down, he pushed open the door to the back stair in time to see the figure approaching. He did not think. He couldn’t let himself.</p><p>“Here!” he cried out. “Sanctuary!”</p><p>The figure turned and ran toward him. In the distance, so did its pursuers. Aziraphale’s heart leapt at the sight of him, growing closer, thighs straining against the tight leather, shining in the low light, lace trailing behind him, something about the sight tearing at a tender spot in Aziraphale’s chest. The thought of the guards reaching him, tearing him down, was too terrible to entertain. Still, when the man arrived at the door, Aziraphale felt shocked again at his proximity.</p><p>He froze there, just outside, his face wary, as if he expected a trap. Behind him, Aziraphale could make out the guards getting closer. They were no ordinary Guardians, but an Archangel, Sandalphon, and one of his ranking officers, a Principality. This, then, would be serious. Perhaps even personal. This Demon had, after all, already eluded them once.</p><p>“Get inside!” Aziraphale hissed. “Quickly, please.”</p><p>The Demon’s gave a quick glance behind him, and then, all of a sudden, he was inside, crowding Aziraphale in the tiny space. His glasses slipped from his face and clattered to the stone floor. Aziraphale pushed past him to yank the door shut and bolt it.</p><p>They looked at each other in the narrow space, the Demon panting as he stared, still wide-eyed, at Aziraphale. Aziraphale couldn’t hold his gaze, so he bent and picked up the glasses.</p><p>“Here you are, then,” he said. As an introduction, it seemed horribly inadequate.</p><p>The Demon made an odd noise, as if he wanted to speak, but couldn’t think of what to say. It jolted Aziraphale back into himself, and the door rattled in its frame. Muffled shouts came from the other side.</p><p>“This way,” Aziraphale said. “To be on the safe side, I think. We’d better get you into the actual sanctuary. Just in case. Then you should declare it. Claim it, I mean. Do you know how?”</p><p>“Wh—I guess? What just, like, shout?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded at him and started down the hall, moving at a rapid trot. The Demon’s hand closed around his wrist and he pressed his eyes closed against it, the feel of his skin. He’d dreamed of this, not like this, but close enough, close enough that he knew he would think of him again, of his hand, hot against his own flesh.</p><p>Aziraphale pulled open the heavy door leading to the sanctuary, and shoved him inside just as the main doors burst open, admitting Sandalphon and the Principality. Aziraphale could see now that the Principality held a truncheon. In one hand Sandalphon held both a coil of rope and a set of handcuffs.</p><p>“Sanctuary,” the Demon shouted, striding into the center of the nave. “I, uh, I claim sanctuary.”</p><p>Aziraphale slipped in behind him, pulling the hood over his head, and slid behind the nearest row of pews. He glimpsed the body of the sanctuary, where a lone parishioner had lingered after Vespers. He recognized her: the young woman from the village competition, her glasses gone now, her face streaked with glassy tears.</p><p>“Sanctuary is not for the likes of you!” Sandalphon shouted. Aziraphale startled, nearly standing up, risking Gabriel’s ire should it be reported that he’d been seen. But surely sanctuary was for anyone who needed it. Even Gabriel had said as much.</p><p>But he caught another flash of movement. The woman. She stood up, shoving her glasses back in place, her face tightened and became stonelike.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” she said. “I have always been given to understand that a <em>sanctuary</em> was a sanctuary for<em> all</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, hell,” said the Principality.</p><p>“Ah, Miss Device,” said Sandalphon, his voice softer now, oily. “We didn’t see you there. This man is a Demon. A miscreant. Deviant...criminal type. You know.”</p><p>Miss <em>Device</em>? <em>Anathema</em> Device? The heiress of the recently deceased Jane Nutter and Patrick Device? But then...he looked down at his satchel, the book still inside. She was Agnes Nutter’s descendant. Aziraphale slid the book out of his satchel and stared at it longingly. He was sure he’d regret this, perhaps even enough to stop himself if he let himself consider, but it did seem the night for reckless action. He crawled along the pew toward Miss Device, the cold stone hard against his knees. Miss Device was standing, now, facing toward the angels at the entrance, and she did not seem to see him approach.</p><p>“Him? He’s harmless enough. I saw that <em>abhorrent</em> spectacle the other day. I’ll not see my own place of worship play host to something like that,” said Miss Device. There was the sound of something rattling, coins against an offering bowl. “I could be a great deal less generous.”</p><p>“Well, we may have to agree to disagree about <em>him</em>. Though, of course,” Sandalphon added. “You are right that the, uh, sanctuary is not the place for this...dispute.”</p><p>“Of course you’re, uh, safe here, Demon,” the Principality added. “That is how it works.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Miss Device said.</p><p>“Only, don’t think you can leave the church.”</p><p>“How’s that for irony? A Demon, surrounded by Angels,” Sandalphon said. He gave a dark chuckle. “We’ll see how long you last.”</p><p>Aziraphale could hear movement. He felt a gust of night air as the door opened and closed behind them.</p><p>He drew a breath and set the book on the pew beside Miss Device. It was hers, really. She shouldn’t have had to win it.</p><p>“Oh,” she said, looking down at him. She stared at the book, then as if afraid he’d change his mind, she tucked it into her bag.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, and got to his feet, only to find the Demon standing in the nave, looking at him.</p><p>Miss Device looked around, too. Then, suddenly, for the first time, she seemed alarmed. “I should...should go,” she said, looking between them. “Ezra, right? Anathema. Thank you. This…” she gestured at her bag, “It’s all I have left of my family. I...thank you.”</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to say something to her, something about how it was no trouble, something indicating that he’d never had a right to it at all. But he couldn’t think, with her looking at him right in the church, with the Demon standing there, observing the whole thing, Aziraphale giving away the book he’d stolen.</p><p>“So,” Anathema said. “Goodbye, then.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, and she slipped away, skirts swishing as she pushed out into the night.</p><p>“Well,” the Demon said from across the room. “That went down like a lead balloon.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughed, a quick, silent giggle, more a hitch in his chest than anything else. The Demon started toward him.</p><p>“Who <em>are</em> you?” he said. Aziraphale took an involuntary step back, the question—more than the movement—startling him.</p><p>“Oh, I—”</p><p>“You must be some kind of Angel,” the Demon said, stalking closer, circling. “But more like a real one, I think.”</p><p>“I’m not an Angel,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Yeah, no. I got that. All the shouting in the vestry kind of tipped me off. That and the...the other day in the village. But then you’re in a habit.” He gestured at Aziraphale’s clothing. “Didn’t know what to think at first.”</p><p>“But you do now.”</p><p>“Yeah, no. You say you’re not an Angel, but here you are. And <em>yet</em>, I <em>believe</em> you’re not one because I see how the rest of them treat you.”</p><p>“How they—” Aziraphale felt indignation begin to surface, even though the adrenaline.</p><p>“<em>And</em>: you keep saving me.” He spoke this sentence slowly, pronouncing every word separately, as if he wanted to study Aziraphale’s reaction to each one.</p><p>Aziraphale swallowed.</p><p>The Demon cocked his head.</p><p>“I left your book for you. In the courtyard under the vestry window. I saw you in there. Did you get it? Didn’t look like you were in much position to take it with you in the village. After you—”</p><p>“Yes. Yes. No need to...relive...” So, he hadn’t seen? Aziraphale reflected. Anathema hadn’t held it up, hadn’t said, at any point.</p><p>“Yeah, no, let’s not.” The Demon smiled.</p><p>“You saved...my book?” Aziraphale did feel the regret now, at giving it up, and it was worse than he’d imagined.</p><p>The Demon gave him a bemused smile.</p><p>“You saved my life.” His tone was weighted, like it was significant, real. And it was that, more than the words, that made Aziraphale feel unsteady, helpless, as the Demon stepped closer.</p><p>“I’m Crowley,” he said. There was something in his voice like hope. Like he wanted Aziraphale not just to know his name, but to be glad of the knowledge, to use it somehow. This time, Aziraphale couldn’t move away from him, couldn’t do anything to take that hope away from him. He smiled and watched the man’s face soften. His own chest warmed now, filling up with a hope of his own. He was suddenly dizzyingly, overwhelmingly glad he’d saved him. He felt certain he’d do it again.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” he said. It felt like an offering. Crowley smiled, a gentle, soft expression, as if he wanted Aziraphale to feel safe. It was miles from the barbed smirk he’d given him in the village. Aziraphale swallowed to stop himself gasping at the sight of it, and directed at him.</p><p>“Aziraphael,” Crowley said, coming to a stop just in front of him.</p><p>Inwardly, Aziraphale winced. He took a deep breath before speaking.</p><p>“Aziraphale. I’m not an Angel.”</p><p>Crowley frowned, and looked like he might be about to ask questions. Aziraphale looked down; it was too hard to keep looking at him. He didn’t want to have to explain. Not now. Not to him.</p><p>But Crowley only muttered, “Right, sorry,” and looked abashed.</p><p>“It’s all right,” Aziraphale said instinctively.</p><p>The silence stretched out.</p><p>“So what do I do now?” Crowley said.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Now that I’ve claimed sanctuary. Can’t leave, right? So what’s...the next step?”</p><p>Aziraphale stared. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I—”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “You don’t know, do you?”</p><p>“I don’t. You’re right. But why don’t we figure it out together? Come with me?”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes widened, then glittered. He licked his lips and reached out one long, elegant hand, covering both of Aziraphale’s, slipping between them to wind around the top one, disentangle it from the other. Hold it.</p><p>Aziraphale could not breathe.</p><p>“Well, then,” Crowley said, tipping his head. “Lead the way, angel.”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale moved as if he were in a trance. He led Crowley back to the rear stair, to keep them away from the areas the Angels used. It wouldn’t do to run into any of them. Or worse yet—to run into Gabriel. Without thinking, without any plan at all, he led Crowley to his room.</p><p>“You can...wash, if you like. I have some clean lay clothing, I think.” Aziraphale was suddenly forcefully grateful that he’d washed his linens and the stained trousers he’d stuffed under the bed. Good lord, the man was here, right here. In his room. He couldn’t think of that now. Crowley shot him a wary look.</p><p>“Do I smell bad or something?” he said. “Been hiding out there a few days, yeah, but I washed in the pond, you know? Got the garbage off my clothes. It’s just the whole running through a churchyard, you know?”</p><p>Aziraphale let out a quiet chuckle. “I do, yes. But no, you don’t. I just assumed you’d want...But of course, if you don’t—”</p><p>“This <em>your</em> room, then?”</p><p>“Yes, but I assure you, the water is clean.”</p><p>“Oh, you know that’s not what I meant at <em>all</em>.” Crowley smiled, different from the soft, nonthreatening thing in the nave, showing glittering teeth, and Aziraphale felt a thrill of fear overlaid with...well, something he wouldn’t look at too closely. He drew back, giving Crowley a nod, then went to his trunk, a collection of old clothes the Angels had given him, mostly old habits, but some lay clothing. He opened it.</p><p>“Have a look in there,” he said. “See if there’s anything that suits. I’ll...leave you to it. Give a knock on the door when you’re done.”</p><p>Something flickered across Crowley’s face, surprise.</p><p>“You’re going?”</p><p>“Of course,” Aziraphale said, shocked. “So you can wash and change your clothes.”</p><p>Crowley gave him a confused smile. Aziraphale frowned. Surely, he couldn’t have expected...</p><p>“You don’t imagine that I—” he started, drawing himself up as comprehension dawned. Crowley must have made an assumption about why he’d brought him here. People did such things, after all.</p><p>Crowley’s face reddened as Aziraphale’s mouth fell open slightly. He wasn’t at all sure he could keep standing with the weight of the realization, with how close he feared it was to the truth. “Oh,” he said. “Oh...I...I’ll go now. I’ll...go.”</p><p>“Hey, no, sorry,” Crowley said. “I’m sorry, Aziraphae—Aziraphale. Look, I misunderstood...please just—”</p><p>“It’s all right,” he choked out, because Crowley sounded so wounded, so vulnerable and afraid. But Aziraphale did not stop until he’d pulled the door closed behind him and leaned against it, his heart pounding. He’d brought this man, this <em>Demon</em> into his room. Into his room! He’d taken responsibility for him, but he didn’t know anything about him at all. <em>Tempter</em>, the woman had called him. And was it any coincidence that Gabriel had had him write about the temptation and Fall of man after Aziraphale had saved Crowley the first time? What if he was worse than a tempter? <em>If</em> <em>you knew what he was, if you knew what he’d </em>done, Gabriel had said. What if he was dangerous? What if he wanted to corrupt Aziraphale? Saw him for what he was and wouldn’t rest until he was ruined? Aziraphale would have brought it all on himself. Gabriel had warned him. Michael, even, had warned him too. And he hadn’t <em>listened</em>.</p><p>He steadied himself against the door, reflecting that he should at least move to sit against the wall, unless he fancied Crowley’s knock vibrating through his head when he was decent.</p><p>Aziraphale pictured him, easing off the torn lace, peeling off the leather. Pictured rivulets of water running over his lithe form.</p><p><em>I washed in the pond</em>, he’d said. To think. Aziraphale might have stumbled into the courtyard and seen him there, naked, and dripping, and now, just on the other side of the door…</p><p>Aziraphale gave a strangled cry. He was going to have to manage this better. He needed to think. Crowley couldn’t stay with him in his room. Not like this.</p><p>He didn’t know when Crowley had eaten, but he wouldn’t compound his shameful thoughts with inhospitality, and Crowley would have to eat, whether now or later.</p><p>In the kitchen, Aziraphale took bread, two loaves, a large piece of cheese, a meat pie, and seven pears (as many as would fit in his satchel), and made his way back to his room. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock. He opened it and found Crowley standing there, facing the door still. He wasn’t wearing the sunglasses, and his eyes were wide, questioning. He tipped his head a little to the side and let his mouth twist into a smirk.</p><p>“So, what now, not-an-Angel?” he said.</p><p>The nickname stung, but it barely registered as Aziraphale confronted the sight before him. Crowley wasn’t in lay clothing, but in an old winter habit of Aziraphale’s in soft black flannel. It was a little short on him, revealing sharply articulated ankles, a light dusting of dark, reddish hair accenting the glimpse of corded calf muscles, the delicate, graceful lines of them disappearing under the hem.</p><p>Aziraphale thrust the basket of food at him.</p><p>“I’ll be back in the morning,” he said, a little too loudly, and turned away, shutting the door behind him.</p><p>He went to the library, his heart pounding as he selected a light novel, nothing too stimulating, and wrapped himself in one of the blankets he kept by the desk there, where he wrote most of Gabriel’s homilies. He leaned against the bookshelf as he read. Eventually, wedged into this uncomfortable position, he slept.</p><p>When Aziraphale returned to his room in the morning, his back aching, the first thing he saw was the basket of food on the desk; one loaf of bread and a small wedge of cheese had been removed and sat next to the basket, only partially eaten. Hadn’t Crowley been hungry? And more importantly, where <em>was</em> Crowley? Not in the bed—it didn’t look like it had been used at all. Aziraphale felt a stab of annoyance, and deeper than that, disappointment. Had Crowley gone, then? He’d tried to help him, had gone out of his way, and Crowley hadn’t even wanted—but as he stepped further into the room, he became aware of a form on the floor, just beyond the bed and saw Crowley, lying there, curled up, his knees pulled against his chest, long hair partially covering his face. <em>Oh</em>, Aziraphale thought. He’d slept there, on the cold, uncomfortable floor, all night. Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth in horror, but he didn’t want to wake him. He’d never needed much sleep, but he knew that it was quite early, that most people, aside from Angels, did not wake at dawn. He took a blanket from his bed, an old tartan thing from the days when Angels wore tartan (Gabriel had phased that out) and laid it gently over Crowley’s body, careful not to cover his face, careful not to touch him. After a moment, Crowley stirred slightly, and Aziraphale worried that he had woken him, but Crowley did not open his eyes, and Aziraphale realized that he had only moved to stretch out beneath the warmth of the blanket. His chest felt tight. He knew he had to keep him safe, but he didn’t know what that would mean.</p><p>Aziraphale read for most of the day, worrying that Gabriel would send for him that evening to write a homily, but he was undisturbed. Aside from ringing the bells, he stayed in his room, reading and nibbling the food he’d brought to the room the night before.</p><p>Crowley was awake when Aziraphale came back from ringing the bells for Vespers. Aziraphale found him standing at the tiny window, still in that too-small habit, his hair now scraped back into a tight braid.</p><p>“You didn’t sleep in the bed,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crowley’s slitted eyes went wide.</p><p>“I didn’t know I could,” he said. “You said it was your room. Said you didn’t want…”</p><p>Aziraphale turned red. “Oh. No, I—” But Crowley, he realized was looking down, away from him, too. “Oh,” he said again. “I’m sorry, did you—that is, did <em>you</em> want—”</p><p>“No,” Crowley said, quickly. “Just assumed. When you brought me here. But you’re not—I mean you’re so—”</p><p>“I only wanted to find somewhere you’d be safe,” Aziraphale said, lifting his chin. He hadn’t wanted Crowley to finish that sentence. He ignored his burning face, the intensifying shame. How could he have suggested, even out of some misguided desire to accommodate his guest, that Crowley might have <em>wanted</em> to go to bed with him?</p><p>“Yeah, that.” Crowley smiled. “You saved me twice. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to pay you back.”</p><p>He stretched, chin and chest jutting out, the pale expanse of his neck bared for Aziraphale, the hem of the habit moving up higher, exposing more of those long calves. Aziraphale gulped.</p><p>“Nonsense,” he said.</p><p>“So, what did you do with the book?” Crowley said. “The Agnes Nutter Bible?”</p><p>“I—oh, I gave it away.”</p><p>“You what?” Crowley was staring at him. Aziraphale cringed.</p><p>“I gave it away! Anathema Device. Her only living descendant. The woman in the church last night. I thought, well, she had a better claim on it than I did,” he babbled. “And the poor dear is grieving her parents. If I’d known who she was, I’d never have tried to win it in the first place.”</p><p>“You really are something, Aziraphale.”</p><p>There was a silence. Then Crowley spoke again, which was good, because Aziraphale was feeling sweaty and confused under his gaze. Crowley’s voice was soft, hesitant. “Did I get it right that time?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, perfect,” Aziraphale said. He felt dazed. Suddenly, as if through a haze, he realized he was still standing by the door, that Crowley was still standing on the other side of the room, the two of them facing each other. “Why don’t you sit down?” he said.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?” Crowley said at the same time.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Aziraphale made his way to the desk as Crowley walked around to the end of the bed and sat down, facing him.</p><p>“So, your name...Aziraphale. Why Aziraphale? Aziraphael is an angel. I mean, in the Bible. That’s the name I’ve always heard.”</p><p>“You know the Bible?” Aziraphale frowned. Gabriel had always said Demons didn’t worship as they did, didn’t know the Bible, didn’t have morals even.</p><p>“Yeah, of course, a little. But why’s your name <em>similar</em> but not quite?”</p><p>“I was brought up here,” Aziraphale said. “Raised by the Archangel Gabriel. My life belongs to the church, but I’m not an Angel. I’m a bastard child brought up by Angels. So, you see.”</p><p>Crowley frowned. He gave his head a short, quick, shake, as if clearing it. A wisp of hair slipped free from the braid and fell forward. He shoved it back.</p><p>“That’s...cruel,” he said.</p><p>“It’s a privilege,” Aziraphale said, raising his chin.</p><p>“What?” Crowley shook his head again. “So, like, I get it you’re not an Angel. No one’s born an Angel. Why’s your name have to, you know, drive the point home? Lots of other names out there nothing to do with angels. Like, what’s wrong with Adam? Or...or Brian? Or...or fucking Wensleydale? Like you need some constant reminder of what you’re not.”</p><p>Aziraphale pressed his lips together. He had not thought of it this way since he’d been a child. He remembered that feeling. Wanting a name of his own, one that did not mark him as belonging to the church, one that showed someone had loved him, had cared enough to help him craft an identity of his own. But then there had been Raphael, and he had seen the truth of himself, of his defectiveness, his greed and neediness and bottomless <em>want</em>. One more reason that Gabriel was right, that he needed to be kept here, away from the others. A reason that he did not need an identity of his own. It was better if he lost himself to the church and the will of God.</p><p>“I believe,” he said. “That it was intended to keep me humble and grounded in the faith.”</p><p>Crowley leaned forward, studying Aziraphale, his lips pursing, snake eyes narrowing slightly as they traveled over his form. Aziraphale felt himself growing even hotter, sweatier, under his habit. Could Crowley tell the effect this was having on him? But of course, Crowley was probably only cataloguing Aziraphale’s deficiencies, not looking at him with an eye to touch. He brought his hands together and twisted them under the unwavering gaze.</p><p>“Sorry,” Crowley said, straightening up. “Not my business, really. Just...you seem a sight more of a real angel than any of them.”</p><p>“Oh, not at all,” Aziraphale said, quickly, his thoughts lingering on Raphael, on his shameful interest in Crowley.</p><p>Crowley frowned. “I just mean that you’re nice. You seem like a good person. Someone who watches and <em>helps</em>.”</p><p>“Oh. Well, I’m afraid I don’t do very much,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve never...well, before the Fair, I’d never been off the church grounds before.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” Crowley said.</p><p>“Yes. And I doubt I’ll ever be allowed out again. Made quite a stir, I think.”</p><p>Crowley grinned. “You did, yeah,” he said. “You know...if you wanted to leave, you could come with me, when I go.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared.</p><p>“I owe you, right?” Crowley said. “So. That could be our arrangement. For what it’s worth.”</p><p>There was a long, strained silence. Aziraphale tried to catalogue his feelings. The fear at the thought of leaving the church, the odd sense of anticipation, of something else, a sense of elevation, that he couldn’t quite name.</p><p>“I couldn’t,” Aziraphale said, finally. “I belong here. Besides, I’m not a Demon. You could hardly bring me back to your den and expect that I would be accepted.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes flickered down and away. “Right,” he said. “Uh, could you, ah, pass me some food?”</p><p>Aziraphale took the basket from the desk and held it out to Crowley, his own eyes landing on the pears, the scent of which had been subtly tantalizing him as they talked. He watched Crowley’s long fingers sliding between the basket’s contents, closing around one of the pears. He watched as Crowley bit in. Crowley met his eyes and offered him another one of those knowing smiles, and Aziraphale turned away quickly, setting the basket back on the desk, and taking another pear of his own.</p><p>Crowley finished his pear and ate the rest of his bread and cheese in silence as Aziraphale read. When Aziraphale next looked at him, he lay asleep on the floor under Aziraphale’s blanket with his braided hair coming undone, but the core of the pear neatly rolled up in the cheesecloth still in his hand. Aziraphale plucked it from him, careful not to let their fingers touch, and took it out with the rest of the garbage.</p><p>Aziraphale did not leave his room that night, but slept in his own bed, with Crowley on the floor beside him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Crowley assumes Aziraphale intends to ask for sex as repayment for helping him (and is pretty eager/open to the possibility), which overwhelms Aziraphale, but Crowley doesn’t push.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale and Crowley get to know each other as they both adjust to Crowley’s presence in the church. Tracy may or may not interfere.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: canon-typical excessive drinking; discussions of low self-esteem; guilt/shame re: sexuality.</p><p>Also, Nadzieja (teslatherat on tumblr) drew <a href="https://teslatherat.tumblr.com/post/637070423110057984/today-ive-learnt-there-is-a-hunchback-of-notre">this gorgeous art</a> of Crowley!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was still dark when Aziraphale woke in the morning. To his surprise, Crowley was awake, sitting in the corner with his hair neatly braided. Aziraphale watched him for a few moments as he stared into a candle flame and ate a small piece of bread, biting it directly, rather than pinching off pieces as Gabriel had once instructed Aziraphale to do.</p><p>
  <em>Use your fingers to pinch off just enough to put inside your mouth. Never show your teeth when eating bread. Though I suppose it makes no difference whether I teach you manners or not, since you’ll have no occasion to put them to use.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Morning, angel,” Crowley said. He smiled, the flame lighting only the bottom half of his sharp face, creating an effect that hovered somewhere between eerie and sultry. For the second time, Aziraphale felt a jolt of fear thrum through him, though it was completely illogical, he knew. Crowley wasn’t dangerous. He’d certainly had opportunity enough to hurt Aziraphale, if he’d wanted to.</p><p>“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, faintly. Crowley set the candle on the desk as Aziraphale swung his feet to the floor. He’d slept in his nightshirt, not particularly concerned about changing with Crowley in the room, since he’d been asleep at the time. But how was he to get back out of it and into his habit with Crowley sitting at his desk, watching him and smiling?</p><p>He stood and picked up his habit from the hook where he’d hung it the night before, then shot another look at Crowley.</p><p>“I can look away,” Crowley said, smirking.</p><p>It was only then that Aziraphale realized that Crowley had changed into another habit, this one long enough to hide his legs even as he sat. He had rolled the sleeves up. It was for the best, he thought.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said. Crowley turned around in the chair, his legs draped over the side of it, rather than the front. Briefly, as he dressed, Aziraphale wondered if Demons had chairs, then admonished himself for the foolishness. Of course they did.</p><p>He tightened his belt, then glanced over at Crowley, who, true to his word, was now staring at the wall and biting the piece of bread. Gabriel would have been horrified at his manners. For some reason, Aziraphale thrilled at the thought.</p><p>“I’m going to ring the bell for Prime,” he said. “Then again for Terce and Vespers.”</p><p>“Ohh, so that’s what you do around here.” Crowley said, turning. He gave Aziraphale that same smile again, the knowing one, like he was figuring out something that had been hidden from him, and enjoying the process. Aziraphale looked away from it.</p><p>“It’s one thing,” Aziraphale said. He let his gaze flicker back toward Crowley and gave him a tight smile. He didn’t bother explaining that this was a punishment.</p><p>Crowley looked curious and expectant, as if he wanted to hear more about what Aziraphale did, but when he spoke, he said only, “Guess I’ll stay in here again. Pity I can’t read.”</p><p>Aziraphale gaped at him in horror. Perhaps he could teach him? But would Crowley even want—?</p><p>But Crowley grinned again, this time, a mirthful thing that dissolved into a quiet bark of laughter. “Kidding, angel, only kidding. But I—I’m not used to doing absolutely nothing. Just kind of weird, you know? Gives me lots of time to <em>wonder</em> about my very <em>generous</em> host.”</p><p>“Why don’t you come with me?” Aziraphale said, pushing away the way those words had felt somehow suggestive, the way they’d stirred something deep in the pit of his belly. He clung instead to the idea Crowley’s joke had given him, of sharing something of himself, of his life, something that he knew.</p><p>“Love to,” Crowley said, slitted yellow eyes gleaming with mischief in the candlelight. But before Aziraphale could feel any excitement, or even nerves, Crowley stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth, chewing with his cheeks puffed out as he jumped to his feet. Aziraphale looked away from him. Gabriel might have been appalled, but at this point, so was he. He did have standards.</p>
<hr/><p>Even so, they spent the morning in the belltower, talking and eating. Well, Aziraphale ate and Crowley asked him questions, mostly, with occasional interjections.</p><p>“So what else do you do?” he wanted to know.</p><p>Aziraphale explained about the assistance he provided with the homilies, with the library work he’d been being trained for before Gabriel had declared him a lost cause.</p><p>“And that stopped, did it?” Crowley asked.</p><p>“Yes, my teacher was sent away.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Crowley frowned.</p><p>“I’d really rather not discuss it,” Aziraphale said, feeling his face grow hot.</p><p>“Found a sore spot,” Crowley said. He smiled at Aziraphale apologetically, but there was still something curious in his face, as if he was hoping to draw him out. Aziraphale refused to meet his eye on principle. He would not be lulled into exposing this part of himself. What would Crowley do, if he knew the truth? Something nagged at Aziraphale, something oddly like Crowley himself: <em>Don’t you think he knows already? What about that misunderstanding the first night he was here. And the way he talks to you sometimes, like he’s seen straight to the core of you. Like he knows what you did the first time you saw him. </em></p><p>“<em>Please</em>,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry, angel,” Crowley said. “But I bet you still spend a lot of time in the library. Love books, you do.”</p><p>“Well, yes, I—”</p><p>“Particularly blasphemous and misprinted bibles.”</p><p>“I—oh, how did you—”</p><p>Crowley laughed. “Been alone in your room all day, angel. Worse things I could have found.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s mouth fell open, as he thought of the trousers. But no, they were washed and put away. It had been one of the first things he’d done when it had become clear that he was allowed out of his room again.</p><p>“Oh, come on,” Crowley said. “Can’t have had anything much. Angel like you. And such a small room. Nowhere to hide anything.” He grinned. Aziraphale found himself returning the smile without knowing quite why.</p><p>“What about you?” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“What about me?”</p><p>“Well, what is it that you...do?”</p><p>“You’ve seen me dance, angel,” Crowley said. “Not much more to me, you know? Unless you need a memory refresher?’</p><p>“No, I—”</p><p>“I <em>could</em> dance for you, if you like,” Crowley said. He sounded shockingly sincere, his face open, almost anticipatory, as he watched Aziraphale for his answer. “No music, but...could still do it up here. Right now, if you like.” But then his grin broadened slowly into that sharp, predatory thing Aziraphale remembered from after that first dance, when Crowley had looked at him.</p><p>“That won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale whispered, ashamed.</p><p>“Right, well, yeah, you don’t—” Crowley said. He coughed.</p><p>Aziraphale feared that he’d hurt Crowley again, which didn’t make <em>sense</em>. But Crowley seemed to shake off the discomfort.</p><p>“So, why misprinted and blasphemous bibles?” he said. “Would have thought that’d be frowned on. In a church and all.”</p><p>“Well, make no mistake, my dear fellow, it is, but—” Aziraphale blushed at the endearment and resisted offering the simplest, truest explanation which would surely only compound the error: that the bibles made him feel in some way, validated, seen, by the establishment to which his life had been devoted. He stuck to the facts about them instead, the satisfaction of cataloguing each bible, each idiosyncrasy, each heresy. He’d rather lost himself in the subject, helped along by Crowley’s little prodding questions, his gentle smiles, sometimes accompanied by light teasing—nothing hurtful, just enough to draw a laugh from Aziraphale. Eventually, he looked up at the sky, the sun rather higher than it had been when they’d come up. He reached into his pocket and took out the pocket watch with the broken chain Gabriel had given him when he’d first been trained to ring the bells.</p><p>“Oh, it’s nearly time for Terce,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>And then Crowley started in again.“What’s Terce?” he wanted to know. It was a much easier question.</p><p>Aziraphale explained the timings of the daily liturgies, the names for each as Crowley watched him, leaning back where he sat against the wall, absently pulling his knees up close to his chest as he listened. The gesture made him look small and harmless, almost innocent. Not for the first time, Aziraphale felt protective of him, remembering the way he’d looked, tied up in the village, the people crowding around him, throwing things. It had been horrible. Aziraphale checked his watch again then stood and rang the bells, ignoring the way his chest squirmed as Crowley stared at him straining against the weight.</p><p>Something occurred to him and he smiled. “Perhaps you’d like to see the library?”</p><p>Crowley’s mouth opened a little and for some reason, Aziraphale found himself wetting his lips. “Wh—yeah. Yeah, that’d be...I just, I didn’t think you’d let me come around with you.”</p><p>Aziraphale considered. “Oh, no, the library should be fine, my d—that is, you’re dressed as a low-ranking Angel. There are so many of them in and out that it won’t be odd if no one recognizes you. Many of them don’t even know me. And the Archangels almost never go to the library. Not to my little...area, anyway.”</p><p>Crowley nodded. He stood up, and reached into his pocket, sliding out the dark glasses, which he put on as Aziraphale pulled open the door to the stair.</p><p>“Yes, I do think that would be a good idea,” Aziraphale said, feeling Crowley close behind him, as if he were eager for more of Aziraphale’s company. He was struggling with this, and not in the way he’d expected. The problem was nothing to do with sharing his space with a Demon, or with the object of his most shameful fantasies. No, it was, really, perhaps a problem that was the opposite of a problem. Crowley was <em>easy</em> to be around, easy to talk to. The closest thing Aziraphale had ever experienced was Tracy’s company or perhaps, at moments, Raphael’s. Only he’d felt determined to <em>please</em> Raphael, had looked up to him. And Tracy, well, she was kind—understanding, even, but they had little in the way of common interests, and she wasn’t much for intellectual discussions. But Crowley...well, he seemed interested in what Aziraphale actually had to say, and he shared his own thoughts and opinions in return. He was friendly, and made Aziraphale smile and laugh, and he smiled and laughed with Aziraphale, too. Aziraphale had never experienced anything like that. He’d always believed that he couldn’t. Gabriel had<em> told</em> him he couldn’t, wasn’t likely to. No one would want to spend time with Aziraphale, Gabriel had always said. It was why, ultimately, Raphael had gone—Gabriel had not told him about Aziraphale’s feelings, only dangled a better offer in front of him. It was why Aziraphale was so very grateful to Tracy for her kindness in tolerating him, and lately, even helping him. It was why Gabriel himself had never spent much time with him, despite being his guardian. It was even why his mother had left him at the church when he’d been an infant.</p><p>But Crowley didn’t seem to even see the problem. Which was odd because the <em>problem</em> was Aziraphale. Aziraphale had always been the problem with everything. But if Crowley didn’t see it for some reason, then Aziraphale didn’t want to tell him.</p><p>Perhaps, it was only that Crowley was grateful to Aziraphale, still searching for some way to repay him, and willing, in the bargain, to overlook his many deficits. So, then, perhaps this was nothing different, after all.</p>
<hr/><p>Tracy wasn’t in the library when they arrived, so Aziraphale led Crowley through the theological books in near-silence, stopping only when they reached his usual corner, where there were novels and an old tartan blanket stuffed into the shelves.</p><p>“Is this where you slept the other night?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale felt his cheeks reddening.</p><p>“I have novels,” he said. “Do you like—oh, but you said you didn’t read.”</p><p>“Said I couldn’t,” Crowley reminded him. He waggled his eyebrows, and Aziraphale laughed out loud. “I was lying, angel. Remember?”</p><p>He bent down and took a look at the books, craning his neck theatrically and reading the titles aloud. He fell silent eventually, and drew down a book Aziraphale wouldn’t have expected, a gothic drama about a young woman who fell in love with another woman who had a terrible, supernatural secret. He had no idea where the book had come from—the novels were all donated by church patrons, kept here largely due to their frivolity. There was no screening of the materials that came in—the library was only for the Angels, and this part of it, devoid of theological content, wasn’t used by anyone but him.</p><p>“Now this,” Crowley began.</p><p>“That book is…” Aziraphale started.</p><p>“It’s <em>scandalous</em>,” Crowley said, and darted his tongue out, running it across his teeth. “ ’ve <em>you read </em>it then?”</p><p>“I...I have, well, yes, I have,” Aziraphale said, foolishly. He’d liked it. The way the narrator had lost herself completely to the other woman’s charms, had let herself be led to her bed, even as the other woman sank her teeth into her flesh and made her something else, something inhuman, and even then, she hadn’t been sorry, because it meant that they were finally the same, could finally be together.</p><p>“Ooh, very interesting,” Crowley said. “Very interesting indeed.”</p><p>“Yes, it is,” Aziraphale stammered.</p><p>“Oh, no, no,” Crowley tutted. He reached out, giving Aziraphale’s arm a quick squeeze as he set the book back on the shelf. His habit brushed against Aziraphale’s as he passed, and Aziraphale felt the press of it against his skin. His body flamed to life. “I don’t mean the book, I mean <em>you</em>.” Aziraphale nearly gasped aloud.</p><p>“Take anything you like,” Aziraphale said, his voice faint. What was happening? Why did it make him feel so weak? “You’ll need...reading...material.”</p><p>Crowley shot him another knowing smile. But he did take the book, plus a couple of other, less scandalous books, including, strangely enough, one on astronomy and star maps.</p><p>That night, after Vespers, they read together, occasionally taking turns reading aloud when one or the other of them found a particularly good passage. When they lay down for sleep, Crowley on the floor, they talked together until they drifted off—Crowley first, his hair spilled around him, knees pulled to his chest—then Aziraphale, after draping the blanket over Crowley, watching him relax and stretch out beneath it. He was so very lovely, Aziraphale thought. Not just to look at but…well, everything, really. He smiled slightly, then gulped down his guilt as he pulled the blankets over himself and tried not to look down at his roommate.</p>
<hr/><p>In the morning, just after Prime, an Angel fetched Aziraphale in the belltower. She did not seem to take note of Crowley, still in his oversized habit and stood in a corner, looking down over the balustrade at the grounds. Aziraphale kept his eyes trained on hers as she handed him a letter. The wax seal marked it as from Gabriel, and she waited as he opened it.</p><p>
  <em>I, the Archangel Gabriel, request three homilies. All on the subject of obedience and the holy calling. Please provide me with your best work, as each will be reviewed and edited, then given before an audience that includes His Holiness the Metatron.</em>
</p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale said. “The Metatron!”</p><p>The Angel gave a single nod. “The majority of the second and third choirs will be joining the Archangels for the decennial Convocation of the Host.”</p><p>“Oh, my!” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t realize! When is the Convocation?”</p><p>“It begins next Monday,” she said. 

So he would need to have the homilies by Sunday, Aziraphale thought.

</p><p>When she was gone, Crowley slunk over to him, taking the note from his hand. Aziraphale noted the roll of his slim hips, even under the loose habit. He would have heard everything she said. With Gabriel and the majority of the Angels away, it would be the best time for him to slip away and return to the other Demons. Aziraphale felt unaccountably glum at the thought. He lifted his chin and waited for Crowley to tell him he was going.</p><p>But Crowley caught him in his gaze and let a slow, mischievous grin creep over his face as he said, “Do you <em>write</em> his homilies then?”</p><p>“I—help,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“You do,” Crowley said, a slow smile creeping across his face, his eyes wide and glittering. “You write them. You write them all, don’t you? And then he gets to give them and everyone thinks he’s some kind of theological marvel and it’s all you all along. Doesn’t bother you, him taking credit for your writing?”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugged, uncomfortable. “I should go and get to work,” he said, stepping around Crowley, who followed him. Of course. And there was nothing he could do about it, he reflected, having just told Crowley yesterday that he was free to join him in the library.</p><p>Crowley was quiet, though. He read his book about the monster lady lovers, wrapped in one of Aziraphale’s tartan blankets, and it was, well, nice, having him there. Aziraphale looked up occasionally and smiled at him. He didn’t think Crowley noticed, but at one point, he caught Crowley looking back, almost as if he’d been waiting to catch Aziraphale’s eye. He smiled, but the expression on his face was unfamiliar. Not threatening, not the sharp smirk of <em>knowing</em>, but soft, gentle, and somehow...sad. Aziraphale expected him to speak of something he <em>wanted</em>, something he didn’t expect Aziraphale to be able to do for him.</p><p>“How come you’ve got those little glasses just when you write, then?” he asked.</p><p>Aziraphale felt his face growing hot. Gabriel hated his glasses, yet another thing Raphael had offered him. Aziraphale found that they helped when he did lots of close work, like flipping back and forth through tomes the way he did when writing for Gabriel, though he did not generally find them necessary for his personal reading. Gabriel said they were frightful, monstrous things. He should have remembered. He shouldn’t have worn them in front of Crowley. He reached for them and took them off.</p><p>Crowley sat up then, “No, no, hey, they’re...I like them, you know. They’re cute. Make you look clever. Not that you need—I mean, of course you <em>are</em> clever, you...oh, fuck.” He covered his face with one hand. “I’m—ngk—I’m trying to give you a compliment, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. “You <em>like</em> my spectacles?” He looked down at them in his hand.</p><p>Crowley nodded, his face still hidden. <em>What an odd man</em>, Aziraphale thought. But he looked so tortured, as if he thought he’d said something wrong. But he supposed it hadn’t been wrong, exactly, perhaps just...unexpected. Aziraphale put the glasses back on and reached out and touched his hand.</p><p>“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m quite unused to compliments.”</p><p>Crowley took his hand from over his face, revealing a flushed face and a baffled expression. He smiled again, uncertainly, and closed his fingers over Aziraphale’s. “So, what you’re saying, then,” he said, tentatively, “is that I should give you more.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s chest soared even as his mouth fell open and he pulled his hand away, gently. “Well,” he said. “I don’t know about that. I can hardly expect flattery.”</p><p>He was not imagining—could not have imagined—the look of disappointment on Crowley’s face at his words.</p>
<hr/><p>Even with the distractions of Crowley’s company, Aziraphale finished the sermons before Saturday Mass. After he’d rung the bells that evening, he took them to Gabriel’s study and slid them under the door. He waited nervously a few moments, just in case, but no one emerged or called out to him, so he returned to the library to fetch Crowley before returning to his room.</p><p>Tracy was there, shooting Crowley wary looks as she swept.</p><p>“Oh, there you are, love,” she said, waylaying Aziraphale almost at the door. “Who’s the new <em>Angel</em>, eh?”</p><p>“Oh, he—”</p><p>“I recognize him, Aziraphale. That dancer, isn’t he? The Demon with the snake?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. “He needed sanctuary,” Aziraphale whispered.</p><p>“Oh, my gracious,” Tracy said. “Be careful, both of you. A Demon in the cathedral. Bold, that is.”</p><p>“It isn’t as if they’re real demons,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“No,” Tracy said, “but as far as Gabriel is concerned...well, don’t let <em>him</em> catch sight.”</p><p>“Right, yes.”</p><p>Tracy hesitated. “I left you something,” she added. “Few bottles of old wine. Well, not old, exactly. But opened. Good wine, and Gabriel said something about it turning to vinegar before he’s back from his trip and gave it to me to take home, but my Shadwell isn’t—well, I thought I might as well offer it to you. I daresay you could use it. You and your Demon.”</p><p>“Oh, he isn’t—”</p><p>“<em>Right</em>, love,” Tracy said. She winked. “Have a good evening, but do be careful with that one. Gabriel would be calling for Hellfire to rain down on the both of you if he knew.”</p><p>“Oh, but surely that’s barbaric!” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Tracy just looked skeptical and returned to sweeping.</p>
<hr/><p>They opened the wine on Sunday evening, the two of them in a sunny spot on the belltower, eating bread and courgettes and jam and apples, and even a little roast beef. The food was always quite a bit better on Sundays.</p><p>“So, you don’t go to mass,” Crowley said, pushing a mug of wine, his second, toward Aziraphale. Parishioners’ voices from below indicated that the final Sunday mass had come to an end, and they spilled out onto the darkening churchyard. Aziraphale watched them walking toward the gates as the day shaded into lantern-lit twilight.</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head.</p><p>‘Why not?” Crowley said.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. But he hadn’t really believed Crowley could remain ignorant of his status forever, and the wine blunted things, making them soft around their normally sharp edges.</p><p>“I was a foundling,” he said. “No one wanted me.”</p><p>Crowley frowned. “You mentioned you were brought up inside the church. I never knew my parents either. But I don’t understand what that has to do with why you wouldn’t go to services.”</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, incredulous. “Look at me, my dear fellow. It isn’t as if I’m…” he hesitated, not wanting to lose his...was Crowley his friend? He didn’t know. Probably not. Probably there was nothing there to <em>lose</em>, he told himself. Crowley would leave soon. With Gabriel and the Archangels away, it would be the ideal time for him to slip out and back to the Alley, though neither of them had actually mentioned it.</p><p>“Isn’t as if you’re what?” Crowley said. There was a silence. Crowley continued to stare, taking great glugs of wine. “I’m looking,” Crowley said, after a while. “What is it I’m meant to see?”</p><p>“Me,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“I see you, angel.” Crowley cocked his head like a confused dog. Aziraphale giggled as the comparison occurred to him. Crowley laughed too, rather uncertainly.</p><p>“So then,” Aziraphale said, still laughing, though he felt rather melancholy, “you understand.”</p><p>“No,” Crowley said. He moved closer to Aziraphale so they were sitting side by side. “I really want to, though. Would you...explain it to me?”</p><p>Aziraphale hadn’t noticed how close their hands were until Crowley’s closed over his. He looked up, into his face, so open and expectant, and so close. Crowley drank more wine and squeezed his hand.</p><p>Aziraphale looked down at it, atop his own. He didn’t pull away. No one had touched him like this for years—as if it were easy, as if they wanted him to know that, whatever it was, it would be OK. Aziraphale took a deep breath, let it out, fighting the reflexive urge to pull away. It felt nice, though, felt like he was coming to life. Like he mattered and there was something hard about that, something that hurt. He didn’t move away. He reminded himself that Crowley had initiated this, so it was OK. Crowley <em>wanted</em> to touch him. Aziraphale hadn’t touched Crowley. It wasn’t his fault. Crowley wasn’t uncomfortable.</p><p>“I’m not exactly fit company,” he murmured.</p><p>“<em>What?</em> Why aren’t you?”</p><p>“I’m...different,” Aziraphale said. He shrugged. “Unsightly, foolish…”</p><p>“No, no, Aziraphale—” Crowley sounded panicked. He stared at Aziraphale, then looked away, down into his wine, and Aziraphale bit his lip, feeling regretful. Was he really only now realizing the truth of him?</p><p>Aziraphale made himself look back up at him, made himself peer closer, the wine blunting the worst of his fear. Crowley downed the entire rest of the mug in one go and set it down. He turned to Aziraphale and fixed him with a hard stare that almost made Aziraphale quail.</p><p>“Listen to me. You’re <em>not</em>,” Crowley said, fiercely. “Who told you that?”</p><p>He rose to his knees, reached out both arms, and closed them around Aziraphale, leaning forward so he nearly toppled into him. Aziraphale held him up and he steadied. Oh, Crowley’s arms were thin, but they felt strong. He was warm and his hair against Aziraphale’s face felt silky. He raised his own arms, wrapping them around Crowley’s thin form. Oh, that felt <em>nice</em>. No one touched him this way, or at all, really. Tracy might occasionally pat his arm or squeeze his shoulder. Gabriel, well, he didn’t touch Aziraphale unless he was in need of discipline. Was Crowley really letting him have this? But it didn’t seem to matter so much, right now, to make sense of it, or the way it made his heart race, his chest ache, his breath catch in his throat.</p><p>“And anyway, different is...different is OK,” Crowley said. “You know? I mean, look at my eyes. Look different, yeah, but they don’t mean anything about who I am.”</p><p>“You’re a Demon,” Aziraphale said into his bony shoulder. “It’s different for Demons.”</p><p>He remembered then why he couldn’t let himself linger there, pressed up against him in the dying light. He pulled back, looking down at the blanket beneath them.</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Crowley said, settling back. “I mean, Demons like to play up our differences. But you can do that, too, you know? Celebrate them. Stuff that makes you special.”</p><p>Special. Aziraphale wasn’t <em>special</em>. He was <em>wrong</em>. Aziraphale lowered his voice. “I’m <em>soft</em>,” he added, thinking about the things Gabriel said when he ate in front of him, once even prodding him in the stomach when he’d found him eating a small piece of chocolate someone had left in the kitchen.</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley said, smiling. He nudged Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I like that about you, angel. ’S not a bad thing. You’re clever too. And brave. And...and nice.”</p><p><em>No.</em> Aziraphale couldn’t look at him. He didn’t know how to hear that, no one spoke to him like that. It was dangerous anyway, for Crowley, with Aziraphale already thinking about him the way he did. Raphael had once told him he was empathetic and clever, had said he had <em>a great deal of raw potential</em>. And look what had happened there. Aziraphale had gotten confused. He’d tried to hide it, but Gabriel had seen. And it wouldn’t have happened at all if he’d really been <em>clever</em>. Or nice.</p><p>“I’m not fit to be seen,” Aziraphale said. It came out sounding sad. He hadn’t meant it to be sad. It was just what <em>was</em>.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Crowley said. “No, Aziraphale. You’re—fuck. You just.” Crowley’s hand landed on the back of his head, briefly, almost cradling it, but then he pulled back abruptly and shook his head. He closed his eyes a moment, then looked at Aziraphale. “Nothing wrong with you angel, I promise. <em>Nothing</em> wrong with you. I need you to believe me, OK?”</p><p>Then he winced and twitched, but hugged him again, and Aziraphale, confused, felt tears starting, and Crowley stroked his back as he cried for a few moments before getting himself under control. He expected Crowley to stop him, to pull away, to say <em>that’s enough</em>—he’d clearly had to force himself to touch Aziraphale—but he did not. Instead he muttered something Aziraphale couldn’t make out about something being wonderful and then fell abruptly silent. When Aziraphale did let go, they sat, leaning against each other for a long while as Crowley passed him another mug and they finished off the wine. Aziraphale ate two apples and began to nod off, but then Crowley was helping him up, and they were making their stumbling way down the stairs, giggling and clinging to each other and trying not to, until they got to Aziraphale’s room, and fell together, onto Aziraphale’s bed, laughing as quietly as they could remember to. Crowley’s arms came up around Aziraphale.</p><p>“So soft and warm,” he said, burrowing his head in Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him. It felt nice, like he could keep Crowley safe, like Crowley trusted him. He shouldn’t, perhaps, but it felt nice anyway. Aziraphale would just keep his secret, same as ever.</p><p>“We should sleep,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Right, yeah.” Crowley rolled over and looked down at the floor, at his neatly folded blanket. Aziraphale felt a sharp longing.</p><p>“Oh, but, you…” he flung an arm over Crowley, watching as he stilled under his touch and gave a soft, surprised sigh. “You could stay. If you like.”</p><p>Crowley didn’t move for a few more seconds, then he scooted backwards, so his back rested against Aziraphale’s chest.</p><p>“Mmm,” Crowley said.</p><p>“You’re lovely,” Aziraphale said. “So very kind. At first, you know…” <em>I was only captivated by your beauty.</em> He stopped himself. He’d been doing little more than thinking aloud, but he couldn’t say <em>that</em>. What was he doing? What were <em>they</em> doing? He opened his eyes again, to check it was real, but yes, Crowley was here, in his arms, his hair spread out over the pillow in front of Aziraphale.</p><p>“Is this what you want?” Crowley said, finally. And Aziraphale realized he’d been waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Tell me if it’s not, yeah? Not comfortable?”</p><p>Aziraphale squeezed him gently and Crowley’s hands landed on his arms. His chest hurt, but it didn’t feel bad, exactly. Something pricked at his eyes, so he closed them.</p><p>“I think... I just want you with me. Is that all right?” he choked out.</p><p>“ ’S good, yeah,” Crowley said. He pushed his body back toward Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale laughed as he shifted. He knew he would have worried about this, if he’d been less drunk, but as it was, there wasn’t much he wanted except to lie here with Crowley and sleep. Crowley wanted that too, so it was all right, he thought. There was nothing wrong with sleeping, surely. He edged closer to Crowley, reaching forward to push silky hair away from his own face.</p><p>Crowley made a quiet, happy noise. “Yes,” he murmured. “Soft, sweet angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale opened his eyes. <em>What?</em></p><p>Crowley’s hand covered his. Aziraphale’s heart sped up. But his hand had already curled around Crowley’s.</p><p>“My angel,” Crowley said, sleepily. “S’OK I call you that? You know what I mean, yeah? My special angel. So clever and...and brave and pretty like...like an angel. A real one.”</p><p>“All right,” Aziraphale managed, even though he couldn’t breathe, even though his heart hammered. “Oh, I...all right.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale woke once in the night, the alcohol wearing off slightly. His head was starting to throb, and it took a moment for him to remember what the source of heat pressed against him was.</p><p>He opened his eyes and saw only a dark shape beside him. <em>Crowley</em>. A wave of sadness nearly overtook him. <em>I just want you with me</em>, he had said. But Crowley would leave. Eventually, he wouldn’t be here with Aziraphale. And Aziraphale would miss him terribly. He could hardly stand to think of it. He didn’t know what he would do when it happened. He’d only even known he existed for two weeks now, had only properly met him just a week before, and already he felt different, somehow—and he didn’t want to go back.</p><p>The bed was too small for him to roll away, so he lay still until the proximity began to cause his mind to wander, his body to respond to those wanderings. He stood up, slowly—alarmed but sluggish. Perhaps if he walked down to the toilet in the cold air, that would calm him down.</p><p>The hall was as cold as he’d known it would be. He used the toilet and drank water from the faucet, his head throbbing. The stirrings had ebbed, and he wanted badly to lie down again. As he slipped into his room, he thought of lying on Crowley’s blanket instead of beside him in the bed. But he didn’t. It would have felt like an invasion and anyway, Aziraphale didn’t want to lie on the cold, hard floor. Instead, he slid between his sheets, feeling Crowley attach himself to Aziraphale as he did so, his breath on Aziraphale’s neck. Oh, dear. His body felt so warm and strong, and he’d been so terribly kind. He had no idea of the effect he had on Aziraphale. If he had, he wouldn’t do this. But he was here now, pressed against him and asleep, so it would be OK, because it would have to be OK. Crowley trusted him. Crowley...oh, God, had he really said those things about Aziraphale? Good Lord. No, Crowley could never know how he felt, how he thought of him. Aziraphale lay very still and was just tired enough that after a while he returned to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabriel departs for the convocation. Aziraphale and Crowley continue to enjoy each other's company, leading to some important discussions and revelations.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the morning, Crowley woke him, a gentle hand on his shoulder, a quiet voice. He pushed a cup of water into Aziraphale’s hands as he sat up.</p><p>“Got tea, too,” he said, with a rather sheepish-looking grin. He looked hopeful, yet somehow apologetic.</p><p>“How did you—?”</p><p>“You think I can’t boil water?” Crowley said, relaxing into his usual smirk. “You should drink that.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned, but he did, thirsty again despite his nighttime wanderings. He studied Crowley, who looked tired but seemed determined to act as if he felt fine.</p><p>“Bet you’re not used to a night like that,” Crowley said. “The—the drinking?”</p><p>“The drinking, perhaps,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “I have had wine, though not to excess. And not in company.”</p><p>He didn’t imagine that Crowley’s face went red. He frowned slightly. He hadn’t done anything in his sleep, had he? Good lord, he’d been too tired to even consider the possibility. But Crowley just blinked and looked away, out the window, where the sun was slipping in through the leaves. The sun?</p><p>“I’m glad I’m the company you picked,” he said. “Though I guess I was just here, really.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. Yes, technically, of course. But he hadn’t had to drink the bottle at all if he hadn’t wanted to share it with Crowley. He didn’t say this out loud though.</p><p>“What time is it?” Aziraphale asked, then realized the foolishness of his question and fumbled around until he found his pockets and drew out the little watch face.</p><p>“Oh, dear!” He stood up, wobbling slightly as his head swirled. “The bells!”</p><p>Crowley stood up too. He pressed a steadying hand between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, frowning at him, concerned. “Whoa,” he said. “Let me come with you.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. His head pounded as they ascended the stairs, Crowley brought the tea and insisted on walking behind him, carrying the tray. “Don’t want you to fall,” he said, not looking at Aziraphale. Something was wrong, Aziraphale thought. But he didn’t know how to ask. Crowley waited, quiet, vigilant like a sentinel as he rang the bells, then they drank the tea and watched the start of Gabriel’s procession as they left for the visit to the Metatron.</p><p>“Should have saved a bit of the sacramental wine,” Crowley scoffed, peering over the balustrade. “Could have poured it on him.”</p><p>“Crowley!”</p><p>Crowley smirked, but it was half-hearted. They went back to Aziraphale’s bedroom and when Aziraphale suggested going to the library, he declined. “I’ve got a headache,” he said. “I’ll just stay here, lie down a bit.”</p><p>“Oh, of course, yes,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll see you tonight then.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes went wide, then softened. “Yeah, tonight.”</p><p>“This evening, that is,” Aziraphale tried. “For dinner. Perhaps.”</p><p>What was it? Had he done something then? Or had Crowley realized? Or perhaps it was simpler than that, even. Perhaps Crowley had overextended himself yesterday, saying all those kind things, embracing Aziraphale the way he had. Sharing his bed. Perhaps he hadn’t meant any of it, wished he could take it back. It was no more than Aziraphale should expect, but it hurt, and made him feel hollow inside.</p><p>He could not concentrate on his book. When Tracy approached him, he didn’t even see her at first, sitting hunch-shouldered in his corner, a blanket over him, a hand to his face. Why couldn’t he stop thinking of Crowley? Why did he <em>need</em> this resolved so desperately? He didn’t want to think of him, wanted to simply put it all out of his mind, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t like it had been with Raphael anymore, not really. It wasn’t even like it had been with <em>Crowley</em> at first, when he was just a dancer, just a man with a beautiful body. Now it felt real somehow, like even without Aziraphale making his desires known, they had somehow manifested in the world, had somehow shaped things anyway, and that was wrong, even if he hadn’t actually done anything.</p><p>Maybe that was the problem. Maybe in the cold light of day, Crowley had realized what Aziraphale wanted, what he <em>felt</em>, and was disgusted by it. Sure, he’d seemingly offered his body at first, but Aziraphale knew enough about such things to understand that they weren’t personal. Sometimes people simply traded what they had in order to survive. But he’d been around Aziraphale for a while now, and perhaps that was the difference—between the two of them, things had <em>become</em> personal. Crowley had gotten to know Aziraphale and now the notion was too much and he was afraid Aziraphale had gotten the wrong idea about what he’d meant. That Aziraphale might believe that something between them would be more than transactional. When of course Aziraphale would never want…</p><p>Oh, but of course he would. Not in exchange for his assistance, of course. Or in <em>exchange</em> for anything else. But if Crowley really wanted—no. Here it was again, that confusion. Because of course Crowley didn’t want that. It was foolish to even entertain it, wrong of him to think of Crowley that way, when Crowley had only been kind, decent.</p><p>But that was what Aziraphale <em>did</em> when met with decency and kindness. Care. He twisted it into something it should never be, and then wished to return it, in its perverted form.</p><p>“Aziraphale, love?”</p><p>He startled, looking up at Tracy. <em>Love</em>, she’d called him. Did she love him? Did he love her? He did, of course he did. And he hadn’t...hadn’t ruined it, he realized. Tracy might leave soon, like the staff all did after a while, but...not yet. <em>Love</em>. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he suddenly felt foolish and even more confused. She set a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, dear?”</p><p>He shook his head and regretted it, as it only intensified the ache. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just, I think, perhaps I should have been a bit more circumspect in my wine consumption.”</p><p>She let out a barking laugh that made his head throb, even as she squeezed his shoulder.</p><p>“Why don’t you go outside,” she suggested. “Put the book down, take a nice stroll. Get some fresh air. You don’t have to worry about His Holiness right now.”</p><p>There was something about the way she said Gabriel’s title, like it was a joke. But Aziraphale could not deny the wisdom of her advice.</p><p>“Where’s your Angel?” she asked.</p><p>“Too much wine for him too, I’m afraid. I believe he’s sleeping.”</p><p>Tracy chuckled, softly this time. “Good time to get him outside too, if you like. While Gabriel’s away. Got time to see the whole place and skedaddle before His Holiness even knows he was here.”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale walked the grounds alone, returning to his room only when it started to grow dark. Crowley set aside the book he’d been reading and they ate, a nice stew Tracy had made from the leftover beef and some potatoes and carrots. Things were less formal now that most of the Angels were away, and Tracy had taken over the cooking, which meant the food was less regulated and tasted better. After dinner, Crowley was quiet, and they both read until bedtime. Before the candle was out, Crowley sat on the edge of Aziraphale’s bed and looked at him. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and spoke.</p><p>“Did you want me to—”</p><p>Aziraphale’s shock must have shown on his face because Crowley shook his head and stood up.</p><p>“Yeah, no, sorry,” he said. “Just thought—last night—sorry. I don’t. Don’t know. Whatever.”</p><p>He sank to the floor and blew out the candle. Aziraphale lay still and listened to him shift, listened to him arranging his blankets. He didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning Crowley brought in tea again, and this time there was bread and fruit, too. For some reason, it worried Aziraphale that he kept bringing things.</p><p>“Crowley—”</p><p>“You said they were away,” he said. “No one noticed. Didn’t even see anyone.”</p><p>“Oh, yes, but do be careful. And you know, you needn’t—needn’t wait on me.”</p><p>“You did for me,” Crowley said. “When I’d arrived.”</p><p>“Of course I did. You’re my guest.” Aziraphale’s face grew hot even as the words escaped him. Crowley wasn’t his guest. He was really little more than a prisoner, when Aziraphale reflected on it. He hadn’t repeated what Tracy had said yesterday, about Crowley leaving, but she’d been right, he knew. Gabriel would be back in a few weeks, and it would be best if Crowley were gone then. There would be far fewer Guardians about now, with most of them at the Convocation. He looked down, tracing the squares of his quilt. “I realize that isn’t quite accurate,” he said. “I misspoke. I hope you can forgive—”</p><p>“Aziraphale, there’s nothing to forgive,” Crowley said. “You think of me like a guest. Even with everything you’ve done for me. Everything you know. That’s...that’s nice to hear.”</p><p>“Oh, well, perhaps, but it’s not true,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crowley smiled. “We can pretend it is,” he said. “That I’m just a friend who’s come to stay.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared. “A friend?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course. Right?” For a moment, his eyes held that look, hopeful, hesitant. Then he looked down and away. He didn’t mean it then. He was still uneasy. Aziraphale felt a wash of hot shame.</p><p>“Crowley, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“For what?” Crowley looked dismayed, and Aziraphale wished he could take it back; he simply hadn’t known what else to do, so he’d apologized. It was usually the right thing for Gabriel.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said. “If I did something, perhaps. Sunday night, when we...you seem so uncomfortable. I didn’t mean—”</p><p>“Something like what? You didn’t do anything, angel. I’m not <em>uncomfortable</em> with you. Just...got something on my mind, you know?</p><p>“What might that be, then?”</p><p>Crowley tipped his head to the side, looking down at Aziraphale’s quilt.</p><p>“Look,” he said. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll pour your tea. Did you see I brought you a pear? Know you like them.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, my dear, but you don’t wish to discuss—”</p><p>“We’ll discuss. But once you’re up and everything.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed and checked his watch.</p><p>“No bells today, right?” Crowley said.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. “Not until Terce. The whole time they’re away.”</p><p>“Terce,” Crowley repeated. He got to his feet. “I’m not looking,” he said, as he poured tea into two cups. Aziraphale whipped off the nightshirt and took his habit from its hook, pulling it on before tugging up a fresh set of underpants.</p><p>“You can now,” he said, smiling.</p><p>Crowley turned around, his smile indulgent, soft, as he handed Aziraphale a pear in a napkin and gestured to the steaming mugs on the desk. Aziraphale took one and sat on the bed in front of him. Crowley watched him, still smiling, as he bit into the pear and sighed at the sweet, fresh taste.</p><p>“Crowley?” Aziraphale ate more of the pear. It was a small thing, gone in just three bites. He set down the core on the napkin and sipped his tea.</p><p>“Wh—oh, right.” He looked down again. “Look, I don’t know how to...all right. So, you didn’t do anything wrong, Sunday. But something did upset me. Something you said.”</p><p>“I’m sorr—”</p><p>“Don’t do that,” Crowley said. “Look, I don’t know how much you remember about what you said. On the belltower. About why you don’t go to services.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt his heart drop. Here it came. He’d known it was a risk, telling Crowley how everyone saw him. Something Crowley hadn’t seemed to see for himself. And then he’d held onto Crowley all night, had asked him to stay with him in his bed. Oh, of course he was uncomfortable. He was so kind. Probably he was trying to find a kind way to let Aziraphale know he didn’t want to do anything like that again. Aziraphale thought of him the night before, offering to let Aziraphale hold him yet again. He pressed a hand to his lips in horror. What if he’d let Aziraphale even if he hadn’t wanted to? What if he’d felt he had to?</p><p>But then Aziraphale realized Crowley wasn’t talking. He looked up at his face and saw his lips working, struggling to form words, saw his golden eyes pressed tight shut.</p><p>“You really believe that about yourself?” he said, finally. “That’s what they told you?”</p><p>“Crowley...well, yes, my dear. It’s true. I may have been a bit maudlin, from the wine, but—”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, you weren’t a bit <em>maudlin</em> from the wine, you were fucking miserable and completely fucking used to it and <em>no one </em>should <em>ever</em> feel like that.” Crowley spat the words out, but Aziraphale didn’t feel offended at his tone because he opened his eyes, revealing a hurt expression and the first glimmers of tears. He started to pace back and forth in front of the door. “Least of all you. I can’t stop thinking about it, angel. You’re so...you’re not any of those things, not anything they said except maybe <em>different</em>, but that’s not bad, and anyway you’re not so different you don’t have the same feelings as anybody else and that’s just…” Crowley shook his head.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said. “Why are you upset?”</p><p>Crowley stopped and faced him, his face slack, incredulous. “They were so cruel to you. These bloody Angels. Your whole life.”</p><p>“But I—”</p><p>“No. You don’t deserve any of it. <em>Nobody</em> could, really. And you...you’re just...you...<em>Aziraphale</em>,” Crowley said his name like a plea.</p><p>There was a silence, then Crowley said, in a different tone. “Think about it like this. Who’s...who’s someone you lo—care about?”</p><p>“Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, without thinking. He’d named Gabriel first in his prayers every night as a child, prompted by his nurse, and still did on the rare occasion he bothered to say them, now that no one was around to check.</p><p>But Crowley sneered. “Fuck. No, someone you really care about. Someone kind to you. Please tell me someone is kind to you around here.”</p><p><em>You. Raphael.</em> “Tracy,” he said.</p><p>“Right, so. Tracy. And how would you feel if someone told Tracy she was foolish and...and not fit to be seen. Or have friends.”</p><p>“But Tracy<em> isn’t.</em>”</p><p>“Of course she isn’t. And you’re not either, but ’s not the point. How would you <em>feel</em>, angel, if someone did that?”</p><p>“Angry, I suppose. I’d want them to retract it immediately.”</p><p>“Right, but what if...what if Tracy told you that about herself? What if Tracy believed it?”</p><p>They were silent for a long moment. Then Aziraphale said, “Oh,” and when he looked up, Crowley’s face was wet.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “So...so, I was thinking, I know you didn’t think I was serious before. But—you should come with me, when I leave. ’S not safe for you here either.”</p><p>“No one has hurt me here.”</p><p>“Come on, I think we just established that someone has. That fucking <em>Archangel</em>. And I saw...how he treated you. When I was hiding on the grounds. Saw him drag you away that day by the ear. Must have hurt, that.”</p><p>Aziraphale thought about the time Gabriel had hit him. He’d been ten. Gabriel had caught him trying to smuggle a pie back to his room. He’d known that it was wrong, but he recalled the shock he’d felt as he stood up, his entire right side throbbing from where he’d landed against the stone of the wall. He’d known that was wrong too. Gabriel had begged God for her forgiveness. Had said that it wasn’t his place to punish him in that way, that he would avoid violence in future. He had never hit Aziraphale again.</p><p>“You think I’d be safer with Demons?” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crowley sighed and sank down into the desk chair. “Eh, not really. Some, I mean, yeah, but not so much with the ones I know. But see, that’s the thing. That’s why I’m still here, even with the Guardians gone. I’m not going back to the Alley when I leave. Way I see it, there’s more places besides Hell and Tadfield. So what if those two don’t work for me? It’s a big universe. We could pick somewhere. Go off together.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared. He imagined leaving with Crowley. The possibility before them. Those hopeful golden eyes on him, that sweet, beautiful smile, the gentle touches, Crowley’s arms around him...but no. It wouldn’t be like that. Aziraphale had no idea how to be in the world. What would he do to survive? Would Crowley dance still? Would he offer himself to people the way he had to Aziraphale? Was that something he did often? He couldn’t let Crowley do that for <em>him</em>. And what would people think of Aziraphale? They wouldn’t accept him, even if Crowley did. He’d done all right in town that day, until, well...but even that had been just a short time, and he hadn’t had to engage with anyone much, and it had still been a disaster. Crowley would tire of him, surely.</p><p>And Aziraphale didn’t think he could hide his feelings from Crowley forever.</p><p>“I don’t know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I can see that the offer is kindly meant, but it’s...well, it feels reckless. For me, I mean. I’m <em>comfortable</em> here. They’ve treated me well enough.”</p><p>“No—”</p><p>“Although it’s certainly not that I want you to go. I quite like...having you here.”</p><p>Crowley studied him. “Well, look, think about it. I mean, I’m not going just yet. If that’s OK.”</p><p>“Of course, yes. A friend who’s come to stay.”</p><p>Crowley’s face lit up, his eyes wide. “Yeah. Your friend, Aziraphale. OK?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, feeling soft inside in a way that scared him, that made him want to reach out and hold. But that couldn’t happen again, so he just looked down at the quilt again and said, “I’m your friend too, Crowley. If you’ll have me.”</p><p>“Don’t—yes. Of course I’ll <em>have</em> you, you great fucking…ah, I’m not going to finish that.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked up at him and laughed. “You see?” he said, but he was joking, and he knew Crowley had been, too.</p><p>Crowley laughed. He stood up, then, and sat next to Aziraphale on the bed, reaching for him, Aziraphale stared, surprised and confused, and Crowley scooted closer and wrapped his arms around him. “Friends,” he repeated. “Friends can hug, yeah?”</p><p>“Of course, obviously,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley closer. He smelled clean, like Aziraphale’s own rose and neroli soap. His hair, unbraided, carried the scent even stronger, and it felt so soft on Aziraphale’s face and under his hands where they wrapped around Crowley.</p><p>“Obviously,” Crowley whispered, his voice teasing and soft, his breath on Aziraphale’s ear. Something shot through Aziraphale then, something hot and wanting. He felt his body stir and let go of him, pulling back. He stood up, tugging at his habit and trying not to tremble.</p><p>“I’ll clear up,” he said, his voice coming out strangled. Crowley looked down, then, but Aziraphale didn’t know if he was hurt, or worse, if he’d seen the state Aziraphale was in. Or perhaps both. He didn’t dare look at Crowley’s face; he couldn’t.</p><p>He took the dishes down to the kitchens and went down a few more floors, into the baths, which were normally only for the Archangels. He washed himself quickly in privacy, using a different soap and wondering how he’d come to feel so comfortable in the constant company of a Demon in so short a time. Aziraphale normally treasured his solitude. But now...well, he’d only sought it out because he felt he needed to. When he was clean, the water cooled to a more bearable temperature, he closed his eyes, leaned back, and wrapped a hand around his cock, wincing as it stiffened. He imagined his face pressed against silky red curls, that voice vibrating against him.</p><p>It was wrong. Crowley was his friend. He’d lain next to Aziraphale out of kindness, concern, and trust. It had been horribly misplaced, and if he stayed here much longer…</p><p>But no, not now. Now was for letting himself think of the soft hair against his face and beneath his hands, the warmth of Crowley’s body, the undulation of his hips as he walked, the strength of his hands, the soft blush that crept over his face when he was kind sometimes. Now was for the way he’d wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and held him close, twice now, for the soft words, whispered in the dark, as Aziraphale had pressed his drunk, quiescent body against Crowley’s: <em>Yes. Soft, sweet angel. Clever and brave and pretty. My special angel.</em></p><p>Aziraphale had noted each word Crowley had used for him. He remembered the way he’d spoken them, as if they were secret, and fact.</p><p><em>Yes.</em> Crowley had said, to his touch. <em>Yes.</em></p><p>Aziraphale groaned as he spilled over his hand into the water. It didn’t take him long to recover, and he blinked, staring at the condensation on the stone in front of him. Then he gasped, pressing his lips together as tears sprang to his eyes. This had to stop somehow. It had to end. But he didn’t want it to.</p>
<hr/><p>After he rang the bells for Terce, to which no one turned up, he led Crowley around the grounds, chattering endlessly about whatever came to his mind: the books he was reading, the nature of the visit from the Angelic host to the Metatron. As they made their way through the graveyard, he pointed out the stones he’d hidden behind as a child. As he led Crowley through the courtyard, he showed him the ornate fountain of holy water.</p><p>“It’s always frightened me a little, for some reason,” he said. “Especially when I was a child.”</p><p>“Well, yeah, it’s all a bit creepy if you ask me,” Crowley said, trailing his hand through the water and splashing himself with it. The water felt cool in the heat.</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale frowned. “Well, I suppose churches can be austere.” But he had an idea now of what Crowley might like better, and he started off again, expecting Crowley to follow.</p><p>“Angel?”</p><p>Aziraphale turned and found himself drenched with a wave of holy water as Crowley sloshed the font.</p><p>“Oh!” he shouted, as Crowley laughed. Aziraphale stared at him in disbelief. The entire front of his own habit was drenched, and the hem of Crowley’s and his sleeves had paid the price.</p><p>He must have been quiet long enough for Crowley to worry, because his smile drooped, and he started, “Hey, angel, I—”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, a buoyant feeling creeping into his chest. “You’ll not get away with this one so easily, you absolute <em>fiend</em>.” He gave a quick look around what he knew to be the empty yard, then sloshed his own hand through the font, watching as the water flew up and splashed Crowley’s face, drenching the hair framing it. Crowley sputtered, and it was Aziraphale’s turn to laugh.</p><p>“I was <em>going</em> to show you the gardens. But now I’m not entirely sure you deserve it.”</p><p>“I’ve suffered enough haven’t I?” Crowley slicked his hair off his face. “Come on…” he stepped forward and grabbed Aziraphale’s hands. “Please?”</p><p>“Oh, how can I refuse you anything?” Aziraphale said, suddenly breathless. They stood there a moment, silent, Aziraphale holding onto Crowley’s hands, wet and warm, sticking to his own in the damp heat. Aziraphale’s eyes darted down toward Crowley’s lips, which had parted a little, and Crowley moved then, just slightly, his head tipping forward. The motion jolted Aziraphale back to his senses, and he pulled back, away.</p><p>“Come along, my dear,” he said, his voice rather faint. What had he nearly done? And Crowley—would he have let him? And then what?</p><p>“You seem to find a way,” Crowley said, quietly.</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Crowley said. “ ’S Nothing, angel.”</p>
<hr/><p>Crowley seemed enchanted with the gardens.</p><p>“Was afraid to come in here when I was hiding,” he said. “Seemed like the Angels all wanted to take their prayer walks out this way. Can’t blame them, really. ’s gorgeous.” He reached out and trailed a finger over a jasmine bloom. Aziraphale looked away, wondering what it would feel like to receive such a gentle touch from those hands.</p><p>Toward the back, where an apple tree grew, Crowley sat on a bench and looked at Aziraphale expectantly until he joined him there.</p><p>“You disappeared this morning,” Crowley said. “I’m sorry if I was too pushy. About you coming with me.”</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale said. “It wasn’t that. I just...needed to do something before Terce.”</p><p>Crowley sighed and turned to him, cocking one leg up onto the stone bench.</p><p>“Angel. I…” he hesitated. “I want to tell you something. About me.”</p><p>“About why you don’t want to go back?”</p><p>“W—yeah, sort of. See, the thing is...the other Demons...the Demons, that is. Because, see, I’m not really.”</p><p>“Not really a Demon?” Aziraphale frowned, confused.</p><p>“Not really a Demon,” Crowley agreed. “I mean, I <em>am</em> by <em>Tadfield</em> standards. But not by Demon standards, you know?”</p><p>“No. Whatever do you mean, dear fellow?”</p><p>“So, like, my eyes, right? And my tattoo? You think I’m like, a snake Demon, right? Like the Demon that plays the flute when I dance, with the head ornament, they’re like a fly, Beel. And Hastur, don’t know if you ever saw him, but he was there that day too, and he’s got this whole frog thing going. And Ligur’s got, like, a chameleon vibe. They all picked, did things to make themselves more like the animal they picked. Because they feel a kinship or whatever. Thing is, I never picked. They put the tattoo there and gave me a snake and said, here, dance. You know? It wasn’t any of it what I <em>wanted</em>.”</p><p>“They <em>made</em> you dance?”</p><p>“Not at first. But yeah, in the street, for money. They made me do that, yeah. Then, when I started to get...attention, they wanted me to do other things. With people. You know. For money.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley shoot him a furtive, uncertain glance, but Aziraphale trained his eyes on the path in front of them, where a large ant crawled toward the dirt. He swallowed, remembering Crowley assuming Aziraphale wanted to take him to bed.</p><p>“Do you mean...sex?” Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt. Crowley trusted him, and he’d been just as bad as everyone else.</p><p>Crowley let out a long, heavy breath.</p><p>“Yeah, angel.” He looked at Aziraphale, his face calm, but there was something searching in his gaze.</p><p>Oh, Aziraphale hated himself.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “Crowley, I—” He wanted to touch him, only to comfort him, but it wouldn’t be right when he still thought of Crowley the way he did. The worst part was, he couldn’t even explain that to Crowley. He would think Aziraphale just didn’t care. Which was...he moved closer, let his hand brush against Crowley’s, felt Crowley move closer too, and lean against him. Oh, but he couldn’t just sit here like a useless plank for him to lean against. He reached around him carefully, rested his hand against his opposite shoulder. “I’m so very sorry, my dear. I had no idea.”</p><p>“It’s all right. Don’t be. They didn’t make me do <em>that</em>. I really don’t mind it. Can be fun sometimes, you know? Not so much other times. But. Just work. Just thought...you should know. Why the Guardians were so keen on getting me. If you really thought all I did was dance.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. <em>Work,</em> he thought, trying to understand how it could be work, how it could be at all tolerable, how Crowley could be so calm about it. But he kept his face neutral, didn’t pry. He didn’t want to make Crowley feel awkward. And anyway, when he spoke of it that way, it hardly explained why anyone would think he deserved to be tied up, beaten. Why Sandalphon and his Guardians were so desperate to arrest him.</p><p>“It’s...well, I still don’t see how...you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”</p><p>Crowley frowned. “No,” he said, uncertainly. “It’s only when people want me. They pay, so. They want...I mean, yeah.”</p><p>“Thank you for telling me,” Aziraphale said, finally.</p><p>“So, you don’t...want me to go?”</p><p>“What? No, of course not. Why would that mean I’d want you to go? Oh, <em>Crowley</em>.”</p><p>But he wondered if he <em>should</em> suggest that he leave, now that Gabriel had gone. Crowley still hadn’t said anything about it—but then he turned to look at Aziraphale and his face was so close, and Aziraphale really should move away, but <em>oh</em>…</p><p>“Your eyes,” he whispered, suddenly understanding.</p><p>Crowley closed them. “Yeah,” he said, and he held himself very still, as if waiting for something to strike him down. Aziraphale frowned.</p><p>“You said the Demons choose. And they modify themselves accordingly. I never knew that. I always assumed it was just...the way you were born.”</p><p>Crowley nodded, giving a little laugh. “Yeah. Not <em>actually demons</em>, angel. Just people.”</p><p>“But Crowley...”</p><p>Crowley still would not look directly at Aziraphale. It was almost as if he thought Aziraphale had not noticed his eyes at all until now.</p><p>“Exactly. I was born like this. Didn’t choose. So.”</p><p>“Oh, Crowley. I didn’t know. I thought…”</p><p>Without thinking, Aziraphale had let his hand find its way into the ends of Crowley’s hair and begin to stroke it against his back. Crowley gave a great, shuddering sigh and collapsed against him. Aziraphale held him. He could not leave Crowley like this, vulnerable and alone. Whatever he’d thought of that morning in the bath didn’t matter, not now, and what was important was that he knew that, that he didn’t act on his feelings, didn’t punish Crowley for his own thoughts.</p><p>“They said I’m an abomination,” Crowley said. “You don’t notice, maybe—people in Tadfield expect Demons to look like animals. But they ignored me. My mother apparently couldn’t even stand to look at me when I was born. She fell in with the wrong people, Luca and his friends. They’re the ones that brought me here when I was a kid. Left me with Hastur and Ligur and Beel and...then all of a sudden it was well, we might as well make use of it if you won’t pick something like everyone else and I just...went along with it. Didn’t know what else to do. After a while it wasn’t so bad. But then, when you set me free that day. I just...I had your book, and everyone had cleared out and I thought, OK, I could go back. Or I could try to take it to you. Figured the guards’d never look for me on the church grounds, right under their noses. And nobody from the Alley would be coming to the church for sure. You saved me. I owed you one. And now look at us. Don’t know how I can ever pay you back now.”</p><p>“Oh, my dear, no. No payment, please. You’re not an abomination. You are...so...” Aziraphale hesitated. But surely, if it wasn’t about himself, if he spoke with no intention behind it, if the words were merely words Crowley deserved to hear...</p><p>“So what, angel?”</p><p>“Lovely,” Aziraphale said. “And so are your eyes.”</p><p>Crowley turned, keeping his arm around Aziraphale so he was pressed against his chest. “You…” he said, but his mouth didn’t close. Aziraphale watched it as Crowley leaned forward, so close, until their faces were nearly touching, his breath was on Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide and he scooted back, moving quickly, his heart pounding. He pressed his hands against his mouth and tried to breathe, tried to understand. Had Crowley...? But Crowley’s hand now covered his mouth and his shoulders shook.</p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck</em>. I’m so sorry, angel. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I...maybe I <em>should</em> go. Good time for it and all that, yeah? Not so many Guardians around.” Crowley hunched forward, shoulders rounded, head down.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, please—”</p><p>“Got carried away. Stupid. I’m so fucking sorry. Didn’t mean…angel, I would never...”</p><p>
  <em>Oh. Oh, of course not.</em>
</p><p>“It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale said, his heart hammering. He felt oddly sad, and a bit as if he might vomit. “No harm done.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley said. “Fuck. Never want to hurt you. Scare you.”</p><p>“Crowley, my dear fellow, it really is all right.”</p><p>“No. ’S not. I should have—I thought—’s not an excuse, but I thought—you’re so<em> nice</em> to me. And you were touching my hair and you look at me sometimes like...just thought—keep thinking you want...but then…”</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s chest was tight. And he really did think he might vomit. Or faint. The smell of the apples was too strong. He couldn’t think. This was his fault. He hadn’t hidden it well enough, so Crowley could tell what he wanted, and had tried to give it to him. “You needn’t indulge me so.”</p><p>“<em>Indulge you</em>?” Crowley’s voice went up high and he frowned, squinting and giving his head a little shake.</p><p>Aziraphale stood up. He wanted to leave. Clear his head. But he was afraid if he left Crowley here now, he’d never see him again.</p><p>“That’s what you said.”</p><p>“No, said I misread the situation. Saw what I wanted to see.”</p><p><em>Wanted? </em>Aziraphale turned. He hadn’t kept the hope out of his eyes, and he realized, even as he schooled his features into passivity, that Crowley had already seen it, seized on it.</p><p>Crowley got to his feet.</p><p>“Like that. Why do you do that if you—? You <em>do</em> want something with me. Don’t you?”</p><p>“You’re my friend,” Aziraphale tried, but it didn’t sound true, didn’t sound right, even to him, and his voice shook.</p><p>“Yeah, of course I am. Yeah. But it’s not just that, is it? You want…” Crowley frowned. “The other night. When we were drunk. What was it you were worried you’d done?”</p><p>“Crowley—” Aziraphale took a step back, wishing he could melt into the ground.</p><p>“I’d give you anything. Anything you want. Just ask. Just <em>tell </em>me.”</p><p>“Don’t. Please don’t say such things. You mustn’t.”</p><p>“Why not? It’s the truth.”</p><p>There was a silence.</p><p>“I don’t wish to discuss it. I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. If my behavior has been...less than hospitable. Or respectable. But I believe I have explained to you, over and over, even against your objections, that I am not...well, respectable. My...desires, whatever they might be, are not relevant. I won’t ask you to do something you don’t want to do. Even if you are...accustomed to it.”</p><p>“But I <em>do</em>. Want to. And you<em> are</em> respectable. Course you are. Don’t know why you—you’re bloody wonderful. Anyone can see that. If they look.”</p><p>Aziraphale cringed. Crowley’s face changed then, from gentle, pleading to something colder, more frustrated.</p><p>“You are. Everything about you. Brave and clever and sweet and pretty. So <em>good</em>. Like an actual bloody angel. But what I don’t understand is why you won’t let me say it. Won’t even <em>talk</em> to me about why you won’t let yourself have just a little bit of something you—and I don’t think I’m flattering myself here—something you clearly want. When I want so much to give it to you.”</p><p>“Because I <em>can’t</em>, Crowley. Why can’t you just leave it? I <em>can’t</em>, all right? So we can’t. We can’t.”</p><p>“But you <em>want </em>to.” This was a hiss, a desperate, almost angry thing, nearly spat at him, like a taunt.</p><p>Of course he did. But he couldn’t <em>say</em> that.</p><p>“Don’t try and tempt me,” he said instead. And he watched as Crowley’s face did a complicated sort of ripple, his eyebrows flying up, his mouth working. Aziraphale opened his mouth and bit it closed again around the hurt of that expression. He regretted what he’d said already.</p><p>“Is that what you think I want? To...to lead you down some path of ruin?”</p><p>“No, no, I only...I don’t know what it is you’re offering. And I couldn’t, well…pay you for something like that.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes went wide. He reached out and grasped Aziraphale’s hand.</p><p>“Fuck, Aziraphale, no. No. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean I <em>want</em> to. With <em>you</em>. Because I...because it’s <em>you</em>. Forget about the other stuff. None of that matters. I just...I like you. I want to be with you.”</p><p>“But—” Aziraphale closed his eyes. What could he say to that? He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, but that only seemed to spur Crowley along.</p><p>“And as far as what I’m offering. Well, I don’t know either, really,” Crowley said. He gave a little shake of his head. “Sort of the point. We figure it out together.”</p><p>There was hope in his face again. It hurt. Aziraphale looked away.</p><p>“But I…well, I mean that...well, it almost doesn’t matter, does it? What I want? Because I <em>can’t</em>, Crowley. I can’t.”</p><p>He took a step back, but Crowley stepped closer and took his other hand too. Aziraphale held on and looked up into those slitted, golden eyes. So kind, and now, because of Aziraphale, so hurt. Aziraphale made himself hold his gaze.</p><p>When Crowley spoke again, his words came slowly, “Look, you’re not an Angel. And they make sure as hell you know it. So why should you have to live like one?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: masturbation; sexual shame; discussions of sex work (including an assumption that the sex work was forced and traumatic; though this is not the case); discussions of parental abandonment and abuse by caregivers (including violations of bodily and physical autonomy, though only briefly mentioned); memories of physical abuse.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale makes some important decisions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: homophobia, internalized homophobia, sexual shaming, gaslighting, emotional/psychological abuse (in a flashback).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Crowley, not Aziraphale, who walked away.</p><p>Aziraphale sank back onto the bench and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was shaking, his chest heaving as his heart pounded.</p><p>He hadn’t been able to answer him. Crowley wanted <em>him</em>. Had offered him what he wanted, whatever he wanted. It sounded like more of Aziraphale’s confused nonsense, but it was true. Undeniable. He’d been quite clear.</p><p>Gabriel had told him long ago that desires like this were wrong, feelings like this were wrong. But what did it mean if Crowley shared them? What did it mean that he’d done such things for money, and now he’d offered himself to Aziraphale?</p><p>Aziraphale stood up and walked, afraid of running into Crowley, yet somehow hoping that he would. He thought of Crowley’s kindness, his courage. He’d told Aziraphale something about himself expecting to be rejected, and even after what he knew about Aziraphale, he’d been happy to be accepted by him, to be called a friend. He thought of Crowley’s arms around him, the sweet, drunken words he’d uttered in the dark, sentiments he’d repeated that afternoon in the dappled sunlight under the apple tree. Crowley knew him, and Crowley...wanted to <em>kiss </em>him. Really wanted it, not just because he thought it would please Aziraphale. Aziraphale, whatever had happened with Raphael, had not <em>done</em> this to Crowley, had not done anything to Crowley.</p><p>But perhaps...it <em>wasn’t</em> wrong this time, this way. If they both really wanted it, after all, what could it hurt, really? The thought of Raphael tugged at him, the shame of it. Perhaps he could tell Crowley. It was almost unthinkable, but Crowley had already learned other things about him and he’d stayed. Aziraphale had learned things about Crowley that gave more context to Gabriel’s assertions about his crimes, and even though some of what he’d said was hard for Aziraphale to understand, none of it had changed how he felt about Crowley.</p><p>And anyway, Gabriel was gone now. There would never be another moment like this, with Crowley here and Gabriel away.</p><p>His stomach felt unsettled. The air cooled, and he made a decision, one that made his heart beat faster, made the leaves and flowers around him look clearer in the fading light.</p><p>It did not occur to Aziraphale until it was nearly twilight, that Crowley wouldn’t have gone back to the room, even though he’d said, “Later, then.” That he might not have meant it, might even have left the church entirely. Of course he’d left. Why would he stay, when even Aziraphale would admit that it was the best time for him to make his escape. Why would he stay when Aziraphale had been such a mess of a host, of a friend? Raphael had left. His other tutors had left. Even his nurses had left. He’d never seen any of them again. For some reason, he thought now of Tracy, who’d been cleaning for about six years now, and of the way—without even thinking about it—he’d been waiting for her to say she was leaving too. Aside from the Angels, no one he knew, no one he liked, ever stayed for very long. Even Tracy’s husband, Shadwell, the official gardener, was hardly ever about these days, a rotating cast of younger gardeners having taken over most of his former duties. But Crowley—and after Aziraphale had decided to try to talk to him, to try to explain—well, that would be the worst of them all, and yet, he knew Crowley would leave and soon. But <em>now</em>? When he did think of it, he began to run, nearly sick at the thought.</p><p>There was a light under his door.</p><p>He pushed it open, gasping with relief at the sight of Crowley’s bright head above his bed, as he sat, facing the wall. He stood and turned as Aziraphale came in, his face twisted into something stoic and flat with poorly repressed pain.</p><p>“You didn’t leave,” Aziraphale said. He froze. They stared at each other.</p><p>“Yeah, no. Course I didn’t—”</p><p>Aziraphale’s chest felt too tight, his vision blurred, and nothing at all was in his head except Crowley. He threw himself against his friend, who caught him and held him. It felt good. Perfect, really. And it was a shame it could never be anything more than this.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Crowley.”</p><p>“It’s all right,” Crowley said. “Don’t want anything you don’t want. I’ll get over it eventually, you know. It’s OK. You don’t have to apologize. It’s OK, angel.”</p><p>“No. I, it’s not...I want to...to try to...to explain. It’s different for Demons, I think. It’s been different for you and me, certainly.”</p><p>Crowley nodded and pulled back, but only to settle Aziraphale on the bed, to sit down beside him. He waited, looking at Aziraphale expectantly. Aziraphale sighed.</p><p>“When I was sixteen,” he began. “Michael, the Head Archangel, suggested that they pay to train me to become a church librarian, so Gabriel hired a tutor for me. Raphael. He was…a new Archangel. Young. And I think he originally wanted to work in healing, with animals. Actually, I think he has your snake. They took it there when it escaped. He’d take good care of her.”</p><p>Aziraphale paused. But Crowley shook his head. “She’s not really <em>my</em> snake, exactly. Just...a snake. You know. Glad she’s all right, but…” he shrugged. He hadn’t wanted the snake. Hadn’t wanted the association. Aziraphale blushed and swallowed.</p><p>“Oh, right, yes. But, well. I think Gabriel wanted Raphael, or someone like him, because he didn’t want to ask Uriel—the Archangel of Education. He doesn’t like me to know the other Angels. And Raphael would be new and his position would have been temporary. After several years, once I was trained and certified, he would move on. We knew that.”</p><p>Aziraphale winced, thinking of it, the shame, the pain of Raphael’s abrupt departure, without even a goodbye. The way Aziraphale had hidden in the belltower, wondering if the man had looked for him before leaving. He’d watched him go, sobbing, then wiped his face and raced back to his room in case Gabriel checked on him there.</p><p>“Did he...hurt you?” Crowley said.</p><p>“Raphael? No. No. He was kind. He was...” Aziraphale’s throat clenched with shame. He took a deep breath and tried again. “It was my fault.”</p><p>“Angel?” Crowley’s hand was on his back, gentle and warm. Aziraphale focused on it, and told the story of what had happened ten years earlier.</p>
<hr/><p>Raphael <em>had</em> been kind. That had been interesting, unusual enough, but he’d also been intelligent and passionate. He liked to start discussions with Aziraphale about readings, about the bible, about matters of ethics. He even suggested some secular novels for Aziraphale when he realized how much he liked reading. He’d wanted to take him out of the church, show him around the village and introduce him to people, bring him to different dioceses, but Gabriel forbade it. Raphael had already argued with Gabriel about some things on Aziraphale’s behalf, Aziraphale knew from listening outside of one or the other of their offices when they told him to wait. He’d crept closer to hear: <em>Yes, Raphael would teach him philosophy and modes of thinking, because no, he was not a mindless automaton. And yes, Raphael did firmly believe Aziraphale should be given the ring that had belonged to his mother. Why had Gabriel not already done so?</em> And Raphael had given him the ring, had taught him philosophy and mathematics. But Raphael had not been allowed to take him outside of the cathedral grounds, though he told Aziraphale that he welcomed any questions he might have about matters secular as well as holy.</p><p>Aziraphale remembered wondering why Raphael thought him worthy of such treatment, but he’d been young enough to accept it, to imagine that perhaps it was all right to accept it, to believe he deserved it. And he’d been of an age where his unconscious mind began to bring him other explanations, other feelings, in response to the man’s kindness and wit and to his slim figure and fine-boned face. Sometimes he found himself staring, curious how one man could seem so beautiful. He could not isolate one feature that led him to this adoration, but the whole of him, well, Aziraphale had been entranced. When Raphael rested a hand on his shoulder or arm, he had to fight to keep himself still, so still he was afraid even to breathe, lest his face change and give him away.</p><p>He’d kept a journal then, a habit he’d since given up. He never shared the journal, or even mentioned its existence except to Raphael and to the tutor who had several years earlier suggested that he keep it in the first place. He kept it under his mattress. Until now, it was mostly notes about books he’d read, musings about ethics and the bible and wonderings about the outside world. Records of things that had happened within the church—his responsibilities, interactions with Gabriel and, rarely, with staff or other Angels. But when Raphael came, Aziraphale’s journal took a turn. He wrote of how Raphael smiled at him and held his gaze. He wrote of the raven-dark color of his hair, of how his face looked different in the evening as his beard started to come in, of the way his dark habit hung on his spare, but muscular, frame. He wrote of the golden glow of his skin against the pale pink of Aziraphale’s own when he clasped his hand in prayer. He wrote of dreams he had of pressing his lips to Raphael’s, of what it might feel like to take his hand, to feel his regard and know that it matched his own.</p><p>Aziraphale knew that it did not. He knew that they were only boyish wonderings, and he was ashamed of them, but only because they made him shy, uncertain. He kept these thoughts and feelings to himself, but when he was alone, he entertained them, filled his journal with these musings and with poems. He’d even tried his hand at sonnets.</p><p>And then Gabriel had found them.</p><p>Aziraphale still remembered it with a kind of icy panic. He and Raphael had done their lesson—his final lesson ever, though he hadn’t known it then—in the courtyard that day. Toward the start of the lesson, he’d seen Gabriel watching them from the vestry, frowning, and then when they’d gone back inside, Raphael had said good evening and gone toward the Archangels’ wing, and Aziraphale had headed up the winding stair to his lonely room only to find Gabriel waiting for him, perched in the desk chair, the remnants of Aziraphale’s journal scattered around him.</p><p>“Clean up this filth,” he’d spat. “You are a thousand times worse, even, than I could have expected. I sent away your female teachers to protect them as you grew into a man, but we didn’t see what was truly before us, did we? They were not the ones who needed it. How could I have been so blind?”</p><p>Aziraphale had been too ashamed to do anything but fall to his knees and pick up the pieces of his journal, the words taunting him as he caught snatches of his infatuated prose. He’d tensed as Gabriel stood over him, afraid he would hit him. He’d only done it once, he reminded himself. He’d sworn he wouldn’t again. But Gabriel didn’t hit him.</p><p>“I will have to find him another position,” Gabriel said. “You are too depraved to be taught. I can see that now.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale had said. “I didn’t do anything, they were only...only musings.”</p><p>Gabriel had frowned at him then, as if he’d never seen him before.</p><p>“I should have you removed from the church,” he’d said. “If you think that such <em>musings</em> are in any way acceptable, simply because you didn’t act on them. Aziraphale, the mere existence of that sort of thought is a sin.”</p><p>“But it’s only that I <em>like</em> him, not that—”</p><p>“You like him? Then you like him too much. Too much fondness, Aziraphale, between men, is sin. Is that what you wish for Raphael, who has shown you such patience? Such grace and forbearance? To shame him? Surely, you don’t mistake his pity and his commitment to duty for a similar regard?”</p><p>“No, of course—”</p><p>“Shut your mouth. You will pray tonight for forgiveness and I will hear no more of it. No more of <em>him</em>. Do not seek out Raphael. Do not approach him; do not speak to him. You will ring the bells for all services this week, so there will be no time for lessons. I will inform him. And next week, well, he will have a new position. And we will decide what to do with you.”</p><p>“Please don’t tell him—”</p><p>Gabriel had laughed at that, even though he’d already been pulling open the door. “Obviously I’m not going to tell him about <em>you</em>, Aziraphale. For this filth you have dragged him into, he’d demand publicly that you be removed from the church, which would be a logistical nightmare for me. For all of Tadfield, really. My God, can you imagine his horror? His disgust?”</p><p>Aziraphale had sobbed when Gabriel had gone. Aside from that final glimpse from the top of the belltower, the next day, he’d never seen Raphael again, had never kept a journal again, and until Crowley had come, he’d thought he’d never have to face his own desires again.</p>
<hr/><p>Now, Crowley stared as if he didn’t understand. Aziraphale sighed. How could he explain?</p><p>“It’s how I feel,” he said, miserably. But it wasn’t—it was stronger now, hopeful, because Crowley had said he wanted Aziraphale too. “A version of it. And so I—”</p><p>“You tried to get rid of it.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. “But perhaps that wasn’t necessary,” he said. “In this instance.” There was a question in it, and Crowley tipped his head to the side, his lips pursed as if he would speak, but instead he shook his head.</p><p>A tear slid down Aziraphale’s cheek. Frustrated, he reached up to wipe it away. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. But Crowley’s hand got there first, catching it as his other hand reached for Aziraphale’s face.</p><p>“Can I?” he said.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded before he could think, and Crowley’s hand was on his cheek, featherlight, the way he’d touched the jasmine blossom. Aziraphale gasped a little at the sensation. Crowley seemed to mistake it for a sob because he pulled a sad face, then pressed himself forward against Aziraphale in an embrace. Aziraphale did sob then, feeling suddenly embarrassed and helpless.</p><p>“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Crowley said. “Do you know that? With your tutor, I mean. If he’d...if he’d had an issue with you, he would have said something. What you feel...it’s just what you feel, you know? It <em>can’t</em> be wrong.”</p><p>“But he didn’t know,” Aziraphale said. “He didn’t ask for—”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Crowley said. “You respected him, didn’t you? Treated him like you would any other teacher you’d liked.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, even though Crowley couldn’t see him.</p><p>“Gabriel shouldn’t have told you you were wrong for something like that. Shouldn’t have sent him away. It’s just...what happens. Most people. You know, you get to a certain age and—”</p><p>“But Crowley, even if I didn’t act on it—he’s a man. <em>You’re—</em>”</p><p>“<em>That</em> doesn’t matter,” Crowley said. “I really don’t know <em>what</em> they’re teaching you here. Did you, or did you not read the book about the vampire women?”</p><p>“Well, of course, but they were<em> vampires</em>,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crowley laughed, a short, startled thing that shook his body against Aziraphale’s and warmed him from the inside. Aziraphale gripped him in place.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I do feel something for you, but it’s<em> complicated</em>, you see? I don’t know if I can...but I don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>“I’ll recover. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”</p><p>“No, I mean...the way I did with Raphael.”</p><p>“Aziraphale, you didn’t hurt anyone.”</p><p>“I disappointed Gabriel.”</p><p>Crowley scoffed.</p><p>“And Raphael—I upended his life! And he never even knew why. Although I suppose he has a better position now, in the City.”</p><p>“<em>Gabriel</em> did that. All of that. Not you.”</p><p>They were silent. Then Crowley said, “Angel I—I don’t want to hurt you either. Whatever you need, all right? Whatever you want. It’s OK.”</p>
<hr/><p>They lay together on Aziraphale’s bed that night, the bed made and the two of them under Crowley’s blankets. Crowley held him, but he didn’t try to kiss him, didn’t touch him except to wrap his arms around him as they’d done before.</p><p><em>If two lie down together, they will keep warm.</em> Aziraphale thought. <em>But how can one keep warm alone? </em>It was Ecclesiastes 4:9. It was there in the Bible. <em>Two. Together.</em> He didn’t need to feel guilty about it.</p><p>But he didn’t have very much experience with it. Usually, in the presence of others, he monitored himself closely, aware that they were taking stock of him, finding that he came up short. He’d never felt like there was someone he could be <em>together</em> with. Someone like him, someone on his side. But now, like this, he did. He felt safe, protected. Trusted. Crowley’s sleep-stilled breath on his neck soothed him. He placed a hand over Crowley’s bony one and felt something blossom in his chest as Crowley’s arms tightened around him in his sleep and the Demon snuggled closer. Aziraphale didn’t know what would ultimately happen between them, but this simple act felt like a promise of something to come. Crowley was still here. He didn’t want to leave. Aziraphale hadn’t driven him away. Reassured, Aziraphale slipped into sleep.</p><p>When he awoke, it was to darkness and another Bible verse in his mind as something anxious and desperate clawed at him from the inside.</p><p>
  <em>Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.</em>
</p><p>He’d never experienced anything like this before. He suddenly felt as if he’d been deprived of something essential, something he hadn’t even known how to feel the lack of. Something he wanted very badly, now he had it, to hold on to, as long as he could.</p><p>Crowley being here like this with him meant something, not just for Aziraphale, but for Crowley, too. He’d been gentle, and kind, considerate, caring. <em>Loving</em>.</p><p>Aziraphale gasped.</p><p>And naming it, he could see something else too: it wasn’t wrong, it couldn’t be. How could something described that way in the Bible be a sin, no matter who felt it?</p><p>It had been harder to see that with Raphael because it hadn’t been this way, exactly. Just a glimmer of it, just a hint of what it might have become, if so many things were different: if Aziraphale were older or Raphael younger, and if they’d known each other a different way, perhaps. It was like it had been a practice round, only half-developed, if even that. But<em> this</em>, this was real, full.</p><p>Aziraphale pressed his eyes closed, but his body had gone tight and jittery. Behind him, Crowley was stirring.</p><p>“Angel? You all right?” he said, his voice sleepy, lazy.</p><p>“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale whispered.</p><p>Crowley’s hand stroked his arm.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Crowley...would you…?”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>He meant it. Tears sprang to Aziraphale’s eyes.</p><p>“Would you kiss me?”</p><p>A stirring as Crowley drew back, but not before Aziraphale felt him tense, heard a deep intake of breath. This time when he spoke, his voice had gone high, stretched tight like an over-tuned guitar string.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Quite sure, yes. If you are. If you still want...”</p><p>Another stirring behind him and Aziraphale felt a warm, soft pressure on his head, Crowley’s lips. He laughed, warmth blooming in his chest, almost enough to make him forget the nerves.</p><p>“Crowley—”</p><p>“Turn around, angel. Look at me.”</p><p>Aziraphale rolled over to face him. He couldn’t see much in the dark, just the outline of his hair, spilling over his shoulders, gleaming in the soft lantern light from outside.</p><p>Crowley’s hand stroked up his arm, and found his face, cupping it gently. Aziraphale felt his breath, and twitched at it, he was so close. And then he was there, his lips on Aziraphale’s. So soft, nothing like the press of bones and teeth Aziraphale had always imagined. The skin of his lips didn’t feel much different than Aziraphale’s own, and the kiss was gentle, light at first, as if he expected Aziraphale to object, then firmer, as if Crowley wanted to prove how much he meant it. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek and rubbed his arm again, firm but still so gentle.</p><p>Aziraphale’s chest felt warm, liquid. He stared at Crowley in the dark.</p><p>“How was that?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale could feel his breath on his face.</p><p>“Perfect,” Aziraphale said, moving closer to his warmth.</p><p>“I told you you were brave, didn’t I?” Crowley said. This time, Aziraphale believed him, and surged forward to kiss him again, gasping into his mouth as Crowley’s lips parted beneath his.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale confronts his fears and reaps the rewards.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>see cw in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the rest of the night, they kissed and pressed their bodies together and talked and laughed. Crowley slept again just before the sun rose, and even hours later, Aziraphale regretted that he had to rise and ring the bells for Terce, which was sure to rouse him.</p><p>But when he came back, Crowley was still in bed, with his hair streaming out over the pillow, his golden eyes catching Aziraphale, pulling him in. Aziraphale lifted the blankets to slide in and lie beside him, his heart lurching when Crowley pressed himself against his chest and kissed him, slow and deep. He felt lazy, decadent, returning to bed at Terce, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away, couldn’t seem to make himself stop kissing Crowley. Crowley’s body felt pliant and strong in his arms, which closed around him so perfectly, and Crowley held on like he was exactly where he wanted to be. The idea warmed him, filled him with a joy that bubbled up even around the building fire in his abdomen. Aziraphale had meant it when he’d said he couldn’t deny Crowley, but Crowley had never asked for much. Now, though, he moaned, pushing against Aziraphale as if he felt desperate for more contact. He broke the kiss and tongued at Aziraphale’s ear, leaving him gasping as his body stuttered against Crowley’s. He’d never imagined that Crowley would really want this. <em>What now? </em>He’d grown hard and he was almost certain that an answering hardness was brushing against his hip. It made him feel weak, lost. Crowley draped himself over Aziraphale, his hips rolling as he brushed his lips against Aziraphale’s neck.</p><p>It was too much. Aziraphale gave a loud moan and rolled onto his back, pulling Crowley on top of him. His body moved as if it was not his own, his grip crushing Crowley against him as his hips began to move, and yes, yes, Crowley was hard too. For him, like this for him. Aziraphale kissed him hungrily, burying his face in his soft, sweat-scented hair; he felt like he’d come to life, like he was on fire, like that was all there was left of him, the fire.</p><p>All there was was Crowley and—</p><p>Crowley went still. Aziraphale hadn’t realized he was moving at all until Crowley stopped. Then Crowley leaned forward, his hair brushing against Aziraphale’s face as he kissed his cheek, gently, lightly, then rolled to one side.</p><p>“Angel,” he gasped. His body was rigid, and he stared at the ceiling for a moment, even as Aziraphale rolled to his side to look at him. “Aziraphale, I—”</p><p><em>Good lord,</em> Aziraphale thought. <em>What had he just been doing?</em> He hardly even knew, could scarcely believe it had been himself.</p><p>Crowley looked at him, his golden eyes searching, his lips, too wet, too pink from what they’d done, but now twisted in a frown. <em>Oh, no.</em></p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, no, no,” Crowley’s voice was ragged, but he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s arm. “Don’t do that. Everything’s OK, yeah? You’re OK?”</p><p>“Well, yes.” Aziraphale nodded, relief creeping in. “But I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Crowley said. Aziraphale thought of him saying the same words last night when he’d told him about Raphael. Now Crowley’s hand slid down his arm, took his hand and raised it to his lips. Aziraphale gave an involuntary sigh at the brief press of Crowley’s warm mouth. “It’s just…” Crowley let out a ragged breath, “We need to talk, I think. Stuff like this can get complicated. Feelings can get...it can be like you want one thing so badly you can’t think, and then once you do it, you think <em>then</em>, and you realize you <em>didn’t</em> really want it, you know? If you go too fast. Especially if...if you haven’t done this before.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. This was making no sense at all.</p><p>“Was that too fast? Did you not want—?”</p><p>Crowley rolled onto his side, facing Aziraphale. “I did. I do, yeah. So much, angel. But it really depends on how <em>you </em>feel. That’s what I mean. Don’t want you to do something and regret it.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked at him. He felt like he couldn’t do anything else. He didn’t know what he could contribute to this discussion, didn’t quite understand how he could regret being with Crowley. But, well, he’d nearly lost himself for a moment, and that <em>had</em> been a bit frightening, to be honest. So perhaps Crowley was right.</p><p>“Are you OK?” Crowley said again.</p><p>“I am, yes. I—I don’t think I know what I was doing exactly. I got carried away.”</p><p>“Yeah, well. That’s...normal, I guess. Look, why don’t I tell you what I’m thinking?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded.</p><p>“So, <em>I’m</em> thinking, I’ll ask you, before I do anything we haven’t done before, or anything more than a kiss, really, for now. Make sure you want it too. And not too much at one time. New stuff, I mean. So you have time to...think.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. “And I’ll ask you?” he said, forcing the words out over the shyness they made him feel. It wasn’t wrong, he reminded himself. Not like this.</p><p>Crowley’s eyes snapped to him. “Wh—yeah, no, ’s not...I mean, you can ask if you want, but I really don’t care. Not fussed. If I’m awake and not drunk, anyway. You can...can touch me however you like. I’ll tell you if I don’t want something or if it’s too much. But...it won’t be. I don’t think that will happen.”</p><p>Aziraphale swallowed, his head buzzing with the words. Did Crowley really know what he was saying? How Aziraphale had thought of him, of touching him? What he wanted? But then, what he’d said yesterday in the garden...<em>Yes, I’d imagine he does know</em>. But could Aziraphale really do that, or even ask for it? Could he ever be so bold as that?</p><p>“Angel?”</p><p>“Would you really? Let me?”</p><p>Crowley’s mouth opened a little, but it took him a few moments to reply. He lifted Aziraphale’s hand again, and placed it this time on his own trim waist, just above the indentation of his hip. “However you like,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking. He lifted his hand off Aziraphale’s and waited. Then he smiled more fully and shook his head. “No pressure... Actually, Aziraphale, I just, I need to say this. I know you haven’t done any of this before. And I have. Obviously. But please don’t think that means you have to. Don’t have to do any of it. I really don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, OK? You can say no to <em>anything</em>. Always.”</p><p>Aziraphale heard him, heard the gravity of his tone, but it did not seem as important as his hand on Crowley’s side, the solidity of his bones, the give of his spare flesh. He nodded and drew his hand down Crowley’s side, moving over his hip to his thigh. He could feel Crowley’s eyes on him. His hand curved around Crowley’s leg and he could feel the muscles contract as Crowley lifted it slightly, parting his legs so Aziraphale’s fingers could slide between them. <em>You can touch me however you’d like</em>. Aziraphale squeezed his leg, found the muscle of it firm and ropy beneath his fingers, nothing like his own soft, expansive thighs. He wanted to lift the habit, to feel Crowley’s hot flesh against his own. What would it feel like to wrap his hand around Crowley’s cock instead of his own? He took a slow breath and kneaded Crowley’s thigh, then, nudging the habit between them as he did so, he slipped his hand into the fold of the fabric and kneaded the other leg, pulling the cloth tight against Crowley’s hardness. Aziraphale’s mouth watered, his heart thudding in his ears. Crowley closed his eyes and gave a soft moan. His head tipped back into the pillow, spilling his curls around him. Aziraphale’s stomach clenched and he felt himself growing harder, almost painfully so, but he couldn’t...didn’t know...Crowley had been right, this was happening too fast. He needed time to think, to understand. He gave a shaky sigh and withdrew his hand.</p><p>“Perhaps we should have lunch?” Aziraphale forced a smile and looked up at him.</p><p>Crowley nodded, pressing his lips together as if he couldn’t speak, and Aziraphale slid off the bed and got to his feet. Suddenly Crowley looked very small and vulnerable against the pillow. Something shot through him then, a wave of protectiveness tinged with fear, with shame. Would it be easy to hurt him, if he lost control the way he had earlier? Aziraphale would hate himself if he did. This burning feeling inside of him—it didn’t seem <em>safe</em> somehow. What if <em>Gabriel</em> was right about him, and <em>Crowley</em> was wrong? What if he took what he wanted from Crowley and it was too much? <em>I’ll tell you.</em> Crowley had said. <em>But it won’t be.</em> But what if he didn’t mean it? Or...what if he didn’t really understand what Aziraphale felt? What if the fire inside him consumed them both?</p><p>Aziraphale pushed this thought aside as he walked the halls to the kitchen, tried to focus on filling the kettle, on assembling bread and meat and cheese and fruit and not on thoughts of Crowley’s head pressed back into his pillow, the soft whimpers from his throat, his thighs parting willingly for Aziraphale’s wandering hands, his implication that there might be other things between them, more delights still to come. <em>I’ll ask you before I do anything more than a kiss</em>, he’d said. Would Crowley ask him? What would he ask? Did he want the same things Aziraphale wanted? Or would he leave the wanting, the asking—or the taking—to Aziraphale? He tried not to imagine his hands on the sharp bones of Crowley’s ankles, dragging his fingertips through the sparse hair on his legs, tugging up the habit to take in the sight of his beautiful form, bare and offered to Aziraphale to touch as he liked.</p>
<hr/><p>They took the food to the courtyard, where Aziraphale suggested that perhaps they ought to keep their distance in case of any Guardians or Principalities (and the Virtue giving mass) who might be on the grounds. And yet, whenever Crowley brushed against him, he blushed, or reached out and held on, and once, as they cleared up their picnic, entranced by the sun in Crowley’s hair, he closed the distance between them and kissed Crowley, a lingering, heady thing that made him forget the danger.</p><p>He had originally thought he’d spend a day in the library each week, researching and writing for Gabriel, but the thought held little allure when the alternative seemed to be lying in Crowley’s arms, kissing him, pressing his face into Crowley’s hair, and feeling his lithe body, hot and wanting, against Aziraphale’s aching need.</p><p>But it was too much. He couldn’t simply think of nothing but Crowley.</p><p>And so after lunch, he did go to the library, making his way inside even while he turned to watch Crowley walking away from him, hips swaying as he headed for the gardens.</p><p>“I’ll see you tonight,” he’d said, and there had been nothing suggestive in his tone, but Aziraphale’s face had grown hot. Before he slid on his dark glasses, Crowley had given him a hungry look that melted into a satisfied grin, his features standing out all the more with his hair scraped back into another tight braid except where a tendril hung loosely over his tattoo.</p><p>And that walk. He knew the effect of it, surely. As Aziraphale turned away again, he felt almost sad. He missed looking forward to the library. What would he do when Crowley was gone?</p>
<hr/><p>The trip to the library proved fruitless—Aziraphale was too distracted to do much besides pick out a few novels for the week. He sat down to his work and reading, but his thoughts returned to Crowley that morning, in his bed when he’d returned to the room, that gaze like a hand reaching for him, beckoning, beguiling. He felt his body stir even as he remembered the strangeness of losing control that way. It was frightening to look back on, and it had scared him when he thought of Crowley’s body, so fine-boned and fragile. But he’d been all right, had seemed pleased with Aziraphale even, which in itself was a marvel. He’d kissed him back in the garden. He’d said he’d see him tonight.</p><p>Would he be waiting for Aziraphale in the bed again? Would he press his body against Aziraphale’s so they could feel each other, both hard and aching with want? Could Crowley really feel that way about him? The way Aziraphale felt about <em>him</em>?</p><p><em>Tempter</em>, Gabriel had called him. The woman in the street had said the same thing. But probably, they’d meant the dancing, and what he’d alluded to in the garden. And that comment, offhand, about Aziraphale touching him and not having to ask, as if nothing could hurt him, when it was so obvious that so much could. Yes, it was different for him, but that didn’t mean it was <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>And there it was again: Crowley loved him. He knew it, could feel it, even, when they were together. But he could hardly make sense of it enough to <em>believe </em>it.</p><p>He half-hoped Tracy would come in, and perhaps ask him what was wrong—perhaps he could talk to her, about at least some of it; perhaps a bit of conversation might be grounding, and help him to sort things out a bit. Or perhaps it was a terrible idea. He didn’t know, not really. But it was irrelevant. She never appeared.</p><p>In the end, he made a few idle notes for homilies, read a few distracted chapters of a rather misguided (in Aziraphale’s opinion) philosophy tome that Gabriel’s colleague Sandalphon had mentioned to Gabriel as the basis for some of his thinking, and finally switched over to a novel, which after an hour or so, finally managed to grab his attention and hold on rather tightly. It was after dark when he surfaced, hungry and frantic for Crowley. He grabbed food quickly and raced to his room only to find it dark. He pushed open the door and in the dim light of his candle, saw his bed, neatly made (Crowley?) but empty. On the pillow lay a pear. As he walked closer, he saw Crowley, on the floor in his usual blankets, his chest gently rising and falling. But he must have known he was welcome—<em>wanted</em>—in the bed? Perhaps he didn’t want—</p><p>Aziraphale pushed the thought aside. For a moment, he thought of lying down with Crowley, there on the floor, but no, that was his space, and it was all he had in a shared room, in borrowed clothes. Aziraphale wouldn’t presume that Crowley would want to share even that with him.</p><p>“Crowley?” he whispered instead.</p><p>There was no answer. Aziraphale took the pear and ate it with his meal in the hallway, so as not to wake him as he savored his food. He hoped Crowley would wake, though, hoped that he would return to the bed that night. But instead of his warmth, as Aziraphale drifted off to sleep there was only the faint sound of Crowley’s breathing, from somewhere beneath.</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale woke before dawn. As he moved into awareness, he watched Crowley, looking down at the tilt of his face, the sleep-slack lips, the angles and planes of that face softened in sleep. His fingers itched to brush his hair off of it, and he ached to press his lips to Crowley’s, or even to his cheek or forehead. He wanted to take his hand or perhaps lie down beside him, there on the cold floor.</p><p>But perhaps, so early in the morning, he could work a little before his mind filled again with too much thought and sensation. He dressed in silence, not wanting to wake Crowley. As he pulled open the door, he turned around and looked down at him, wondering again why he hadn’t waited for Aziraphale, why he hadn’t at least slipped beneath the covers of his bed and been there when he’d arrived, even asleep. But then he thought of the pear, the neatly made bed, and knew that at least Crowley wasn’t upset with him. He swallowed.</p><p>In the library, he assembled a stack of books of a frankly ridiculous size, too distracted to select them with discernment, and set them down beside his desk. He made an outline for a homily, then listed a few topics for the other homilies he would try to have written when Gabriel returned. (He didn’t want to think about Gabriel returning; about Crowley leaving.)</p><p>He’d begun to flesh out the outline with paragraphs when he heard the library door open, the sound of footsteps and a cart approaching: Tracy, with her cleaning supplies, drawn to him by the light of his lamp.</p><p>“Aziraphale! There you are, love. I’ve seen you out in the grounds and such, but I missed talking with you. How <em>is</em> everything with you and your <em>angel</em>?”</p><p>Aziraphale blushed, and Tracy cocked her head to the side.</p><p>“Oh, my stars,” she breathed, her mouth hanging open in sudden comprehension. She had never looked at him that way before, and it made him want to hide. Instead, he looked down, away. It felt as if there were a bubble in his chest, tight and uncomfortable. He wanted to run. But instead he froze. He couldn’t think of a thing to say, to excuse himself, and he felt inexplicably annoyed—angry even, at the idea that he would have to. But then he felt Tracy’s hand on his arm. “Oh, no, pet. It’s not that I’m upset. Far from it.”</p><p>He looked up. She was smiling, her eyes too bright, sparkling with wonder and the start of tears.</p><p>“I did say, didn’t I, that bottle of wine would do you some good? Oh, Aziraphale.” She shook her head and made a clucking noise with her tongue. “If anyone deserves a little <em>fun</em>, it’s you, love. And he could probably do with a bit of joy, too.”</p><p>“You...think it’s all right?” The bubble in his chest had lightened considerably. He felt positively buoyant now, rather than ready to burst.</p><p>She winked. “Of course I do. So long as you’re both enjoying yourselves.”</p><p>Aziraphale blushed again. “Well, I...yes, I daresay we are, rather.”</p><p>She laughed. “That’s what I like to hear. But there is one thing.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“What are you doing in<em> here</em>? I don’t see him anywhere about?”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale went back to the room only once he’d drafted a full homily and rung the bells for Terce. He felt nervous as he pushed open his door, and he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t Crowley, sauntering across the room to him, pushing him gently back against the door and kissing him. Crowley moved slowly, carefully, as if not sure if his actions would be welcome and giving Aziraphale time to move away. But Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and kissed back, as passionately as he knew how, moaning into Crowley’s mouth and pulling his body against his own.</p><p>“Thought you were avoiding me,” Crowley growled in his ear. He sounded confident, seductive, even, but Aziraphale could hear the fear in his tone, the question.</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale said. Crowley was leaning forward now, his hair brushing against Aziraphale’s forearm as he kissed the side of his neck and Aziraphale struggled for air as he crushed Crowley against him. “You slept on the floor last night. I thought—”</p><p>“Just giving you space, when you didn’t come back. But then this morning. I didn’t...didn’t know...” Crowley pressed his open mouth to Aziraphale’s neck and sucked lightly. Aziraphale groaned, feeling a jolt through him. His cock stiffened and his grip slackened on Crowley, who pulled back, grinning.</p><p>“Just the homilies,” Aziraphale whispered, but they didn’t seem important or interesting enough to explain about. “Crowley, I...I don’t want space.”</p><p>Crowley watched him. “You were scared,” he said, finally. “I could tell.”</p><p>“I was, yes. But I’m not anymore.” He looked past Crowley, at the neatly made bed, the arrangement of food on the desk.</p><p>“For you,” Crowley said.</p><p>Aziraphale let Crowley take his hand and lead him to the desk. Crowley sat on the bed and picked at his bread as Aziraphale ate, not taking his eyes off him.</p><p>“So,” he said, quietly. “What changed?”</p><p>“I realized. I’m not sure what there is to be afraid <em>of</em>. It isn’t as if I’m holding on to something else, something <em>better</em>. Does that make sense? ”</p><p>Crowley smiled. It was a soft, sad thing, unlike his usual wry smirks. It was over in an instant as he looked away from Aziraphale, tugging at his habit until his ankles were exposed. Aziraphale swallowed, though there had been nothing in his mouth. Crowley looked up then and raised his eyebrows, then he lay back on the bed. Aziraphale ate the last of his bread quickly, washing it down with lukewarm tea.</p><p>“Ah,” he said, standing. He tried to picture simply launching himself at Crowley without an invitation. But hadn’t Crowley done that to him? And wasn’t the way he was lying now, the way he was looking at Aziraphale, as good an invitation as any?</p><p>Crowley reached toward him, just an arm extended in the air, and it was enough.</p><p>“Oh, good,” Aziraphale said and lay down beside him. Crowley smirked and rolled to lean over him. He bent forward, pressing their lips together. Aziraphale hugged him close and gradually, the kiss deepened, turned into something gasping and hungry, something that used their whole bodies.</p><p>“What do you want?” Crowley whispered as they moved together. Aziraphale didn’t know. He couldn't think as Crowley traced his fingertips along Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale’s body sang where they were pressed together. He shivered at Crowley’s fingers on his face. His erection strained, pushing into Crowley’s thigh. Crowley moved his hips, smirking as he pushed his body against Aziraphale’s.</p><p>“What should we do?” Aziraphale whispered, turning the question to something he could understand. He knew what he wanted: It was easy for him to picture Crowley’s body, unclothed, pressing against his own; Crowley’s hands on him; Crowley, groaning with pleasure at his touch. He gave a long, shaky sigh. He had not realized he was permitted to want these things, had not realized that the minutiae of his wants could matter at all.</p><p>“Angel—”</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t know how to...to ask.”</p><p>Crowley looked at him with a soft but heated expression that made Aziraphale ache. Another moan escaped him and he thrust against Crowley, reminding himself this time that it was all right, even as the fear of losing control threatened to return.</p><p>Crowley placed a hand on his stomach and slid it lower, cupping the swell of his abdomen. Aziraphale closed his eyes.</p><p>“Can I touch you?”</p><p>“You’re already—”</p><p>“Aziraphale. You know what I’m asking, don’t you? Can I take care of you? Touch your cock until you come?”</p><p>A kiss, hard and fast to his lips, the hand on his abdomen stilled. He’d thought a thousand times of what it might be like to touch Crowley. But this...his cock throbbed, damp against the fabric of his undergarments.</p><p>“Please. Yes. But only if you like.” What was he saying? It hardly seemed real.</p><p>“Of course I <em>like</em>. Practically begging here, I am.” Crowley said. He slid his hand lower to press against Aziraphale’s cock and Aziraphale bucked into his hand, letting out a loud moan, pushing up into his hand. Oh, and it was definitely real. “OK, OK, angel. Let me just…”</p><p>Crowley slid down lower on the bed, taking the hem of Aziraphale’s habit and rolling it gently up, caressing his legs, kneading and pressing kisses against the soft flesh of them.</p><p>“Fucking perfect, can I see all of you?” Crowley asked, pausing, with the habit at his thighs.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, squirming. His chest pounded, and he gasped for air as Crowley pushed the habit up in the front, bending his head to kiss up his thighs. Then he caught Aziraphale’s eyes, resting both hands on his waistband.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded again and Crowley smiled, letting out a shaky breath. He gave a gentle tug and Aziraphale lifted his hips, feeling rather shameless, but Crowley sighed and ran a hand over him, from his belly to his knee.</p><p>“You’re an actual angel. So beautiful. So perfect. Love seeing you like this.”</p><p>Aziraphale trembled as his cock stiffened, dripping fluid against his belly. He couldn’t look at Crowley, not when he looked at him like that. Like he meant the things he was saying, like Aziraphale was something precious and rare. He closed his eyes.</p><p>“It’s OK. You’re so close…” Crowley leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale’s stomach. “You’re so close. Let me take care of you, yeah? I’ve got you, angel, it’s OK.”</p><p>He edged toward him, moving to lie on his side, facing toward Aziraphale. He gently turned Aziraphale onto his side too, pushing his body in behind him. Aziraphale was grateful he didn’t have to look at Crowley, to see that gaze on him, so ardent and tender.</p><p>“Love these dimples,” Crowley murmured, trailing his hands down Aziraphale’s side. Crowley’s face rested against his back, then he felt the soft, wet pressure of Crowley’s opened mouth, the slide of his tongue.</p><p>“Is this still good?” Crowley murmured against his skin.</p><p>“Yes, yes, oh, God.”</p><p>Then, finally, a hand snaked around his side, down his front, and Aziraphale was gasping as Crowley took hold of him and began to slide his hand over him, moving up on the bed to press his own body against Aziraphale’s.</p><p>“Now?”</p><p>“Oh, dear God, yes.”</p><p>He could feel Crowley through his habit, hard and insistent against his bare flesh. It was too much, and he cried out, his body jerking, his vision blacking out completely, but for bursts of light exploding behind his eyelids.</p><p>“That’s good. That’s it, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt as if he would fly apart, the hot rush of his spill against Crowley’s hand, Crowley’s breath against his ear. The two of them gasping, Aziraphale moaning as he pushed back to feel Crowley’s cock on his thighs. In the haze of pleasure, he felt Crowley rock forward against him, whispering in his ear and kissing the back of his neck.</p><p>Then there were fingers in his hair, stroking.</p><p>“Beautiful,” Crowley was saying. Aziraphale whimpered. He felt as if he would overflow. <em>Love</em>, he thought again, <em>this is love</em>, and words came from his mouth, words he didn’t have to think about.</p><p>
  <em>"Entreat me not to leave you, Or to turn back from following after you; For wherever you go, I will go."</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale could feel Crowley, pressed to his back, the slight motion of him as he breathed, could feel it as he stilled.</p><p>“It’s from the book of Ruth,” he said, his voice reedy and labored. “It means I’ll come with you. When you leave. I’d let you take me anywhere.”</p><p>“Shh.” Crowley’s breath moved Aziraphale’s hair. “It’s OK. You don’t have to say that. You were perfect.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Don’t. Not now, OK? Sometimes you feel things after and it’s just...a rush. Not real.” Not real? Didn’t he want Aziraphale to come with him anymore? Aziraphale lost the train of thought as Crowley pressed another kiss to the nape of his neck. “It’s fine, though, angel. I’ve got you. You were so perfect. So good.”</p><p>“What about you? Should I—?”</p><p>“It’s OK. I’m OK.”</p><p>It was a few minutes before Aziraphale had the presence of mind to tug down his habit. Crowley hesitated, then wiped his hand on one of the napkins he’d brought with the food, smirking, as Aziraphale fetched fresh pants from his trunk. He watched Crowley as he changed, suddenly embarrassed, but even now Crowley did not look at him as he did this. He felt irrationally grateful for this small consideration. No one had ever seen his body before. And here…</p><p>But when he sat down on the bed again, Crowley gave him a tentative, hopeful smile.</p><p>“You OK?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, of course, my dear boy.”</p><p>Crowley sat beside him and wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s.</p><p>“You should wash.”</p><p>Crowley shook his head. “I don’t want to.”</p><p>“That’s...” Aziraphale didn’t finish. Crowley was grinning at him, and he laughed because he didn’t know what to say. He felt shocked but curiously flattered.</p><p>Crowley laughed too, then he lifted his hand and waggled his fingers. “I’ll wash it if it bothers you,” he said, looking at Aziraphale.</p><p>Aziraphale loved him.</p><p>“Crowley,” he began, because he knew that Crowley loved him too. But what did one <em>do</em> with such feelings? It wasn’t as if they could marry. Would Crowley even want that, if they could? Aziraphale did. He’d never even imagined it before, but now, he was sure that he did.</p><p>Crowley waited. Aziraphale shook his head.</p><p>“We should clear up the food,” he said.</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll come with you. Need to grab us a few things. Make it more comfortable for you next time.”</p><p><em>Next time</em>. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. But he righted himself.</p><p>“Or perhaps for yourself, my dear?” he said.</p><p>And it was Crowley’s turn to sputter. Aziraphale smiled, satisfied.</p>
<hr/><p>In the kitchens, Crowley washed up the dishes (and his hands) while Aziraphale gathered food for a picnic. Crowley kissed him again, then, not just once, but uncountable, long, slow kisses that made Aziraphale lose track of time. He let his fingers skitter over Crowley’s body, digging into his spare flesh. He backed Crowley against a table, and when he lifted a leg to wrap it around Aziraphale, Aziraphale surged forward, lifting him up onto the table and sliding one hand up his bare leg, beneath the habit.</p><p>Crowley gave a quick, loud sigh and tightened his arms around Aziraphale, holding him in place. Unfortunately, in this position, he couldn’t quite reach—</p><p>“I love how you’re so eager,” Crowley whispered. He loosened his grip, but pushed his legs closed, scooting back onto the table, and away. One hand found Aziraphale’s and held it. He was looking at him closely, almost as if he were searching for something. Aziraphale felt his face burning.</p><p>“I didn’t mean—”</p><p>“I <em>love</em> it, angel.” He smiled. “Because you’re so careful about it, like...Makes me feel like...you know. Special.”</p><p>“You <em>are</em> special, Crowley. You are so very dear to me.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared for a moment, his eyes wide. A shiver went through him, then he looked down at their hands. He brushed his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s fingers.</p><p>“Yeah, but maybe not in the kitchens? Isn’t that woman, Tracy, still around?”</p><p>
  <em>What a thought.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said. “Say no more, my dear. The kitchens are quite thoroughly off limits for any more of our...cavorting.”</p><p>Crowley gave a snort. “<em>Cavorting</em>,” he murmured, mockingly. But he was teasing again, and Aziraphale found he didn’t mind at all. He gave Crowley’s thigh one last squeeze before pulling away, pleased at the way Crowley’s mouth fell open, mid-snicker.</p>
<hr/><p>They kissed in the empty halls, again in the courtyard, and then in the garden, where they had a lazy lunch before walking around, Crowley telling Aziraphale the names of all of the trees and shrubs and flowers. He’d done some gardening, he explained, back before Beel, Hastur, and Ligur decided he’d make better money in other ways. Aziraphale wanted to ask him more about his life, but Crowley had hesitated again before mentioning the way he’d made money, and Aziraphale didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.</p><p>“It’s so empty,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley led him behind a tree, then backed him up against it. He hadn’t realized how used to having to hide he’d been, trying to avoid Angels everywhere, and now, even the laity seemed to have stopped coming to the church as much, perhaps since there were fewer services, and none of them conducted by Archangels.</p><p>“Good,” Crowley said, and then they were kissing again, Aziraphale’s hands moving over the body pressed against his, cupping slight, firm buttocks that just filled his hands, bunching up the habit and easing it up, up, eager to feel that flesh warm against the skin of his palms.</p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley said, sounding annoyed. He stilled, and pulled back, his garment falling into place, his hands still on Aziraphale’s arms, steadying him. It took Aziraphale a moment to understand the problem, but then he heard voices. “Not empty enough, apparently,” Crowley muttered. He stood back, reluctantly, sliding fingers through his hair, and leaning forward to brush a bit of bark out of Aziraphale’s, then lingering to smooth it. Aziraphale wondered if it bothered Crowley, the way it fuzzed out around his head. Gabriel had once shaved it all off after Aziraphale’s efforts at grooming it to his satisfaction had failed.</p><p>“It won’t smooth,” Aziraphale warned him.</p><p>“I messed it up, though,” Crowley said, grinning. “Bit obvious if they see.”</p><p>Aziraphale reached out and lifted a tangled lock of Crowley’s hair. “And you.”</p><p>Crowley laughed. “Right. Even <em>more </em>obvious, maybe, but I don’t care.”</p><p>“Then neither do I.”</p><p>Crowley peered around the tree. The voices had moved further away now, but if Aziraphale strained, he could still hear them, a man and a woman.</p><p>“It’s...that bookseller and the Device woman. Want to make a break for it?”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“On three, we run, yeah?”</p><p>“All right…”</p><p>“One...two...three, go!”</p><p>They ran from behind the tree, laughing. Aziraphale, who wasn’t used to running, couldn’t help the way his eyes trailed over Crowley’s form as he raced ahead, the light, loose way he moved, with his hair whipping up behind him. He caught a glimpse of the other two guests in the garden, Newton from the bookshop and Anathema Device, and felt embarrassed for a moment—he wasn’t supposed to let himself be seen—but then he realized they weren’t looking at him and Crowley at all, but quite engrossed in some <em>cavorting</em> of their own. He burned hot at the realization, at the sense of understanding. This was simply something people did. Not just him, and not just in books. It felt somewhat less shocking than it might have to stumble across them, had he never been with Crowley.</p><p>Aziraphale felt out of breath and stopped running halfway across the courtyard. Crowley waited for him by the fountain, falling into step beside him as he passed. They were silent as they crossed the rest of the yard, but there was something in the way Crowley looked at him, hungrily, with that slight quirk of amusement, and a surprising tenderness in the way his hand landed on the curve of Aziraphale’s spine as he tugged open the door and ushered him through, something that made Aziraphale’s body throb with anticipation.</p><p>This time, Crowley let Aziraphale lift him onto the bed, let him push up his habit and spread his long thighs until finally the bright head of his lovely cock peeked out, already partly erect. He wore no undergarment, and Aziraphale supposed he should have known, didn’t know how he would ever manage to put it out of his mind now he did. Crowley’s breath hitched as Aziraphale fell to his knees between Crowley’s, dragging the hem up to his waist, where he held it. Aziraphale felt light, ecstatic, almost dizzy.</p><p>Crowley was larger than Aziraphale here, the hair above his penis short and sparse as if it had been trimmed. The effect of the large organ against his slim hips was breathtaking. “Oh, good<em> lord</em>, look at you,” Aziraphale said. “You are absolutely exquisite.”</p><p>“You can touch me,” Crowley said. Aziraphale swallowed. “Anything, all right?”</p><p>“Crowley,” he said, trailing his fingers down the inside of Crowley’s thigh, watching the muscle quiver and his cock pulse as Crowley moaned. “Will you take it off?” Aziraphale said, wrapping his fingers in the pooled fabric. Crowley shifted, tugging it out from beneath him, then jerking at it impatiently until Aziraphale, hiding a laugh, stopped his hands and undid the tie at his waist. Crowley slid out of it easily, then, wearing a sheepish grin. The amusement faded as quickly as it had come as Aziraphale stared. He’d seen Crowley’s chest before, of course, the dappling of red hair, the flat pink nipples, the lean muscle. But this...offered to him, in reality and not in some half-suppressed fantasy: Crowley, kind, gentle, and so terribly beautiful. And his. Even if only for this moment. He leaned forward to kiss his thighs, pushing them further apart and kissing his way up and down, pressing a steadying hand to Crowley’s belly when he moaned and quivered. He hesitated at the thought of touching his cock, even as his eyes caught on it as he stroked and touched the rest of him, using his tongue and hands as well as his lips. Crowley whispered encouragements, praise, when Aziraphale pleased him and he was more responsive the closer Aziraphale moved to his cock, now bright and hard and dripping with want. He pulled back a moment and looked at Crowley’s face. It took a moment for him to open his eyes, for him to look down at Aziraphale.</p><p>“Angel? Are you—oh, fuck.”</p><p>Aziraphale wrapped a hand around Crowley, the heat of him sending a jolt down his own abdomen, and he felt a soft spurt of liquid trickle across his fingers as there was an answering one from his own body inside his clothes. Now, he bent forward and placed his lips on the tip, inhaling the scent of him, darting his tongue out to taste. Crowley fell back onto the bed, writhing, whimpering, and Aziraphale was lost. Crowley pushed up into him at every touch, his hands reaching for Aziraphale, tugging him closer, then falling limp as Aziraphale licked down the length of him, back and forth, finally taking him into his mouth. Crowley had moved closer to the end of the bed, spreading his legs wider, and Aziraphale didn’t stop trailing his hands over his legs, even as he slid his lips over Crowley’s length, feeling the pulse of him inside his mouth, the salty, metallic tang of his precome. He pressed his lips lower, too, and licked over the velvety skin of his scrotum before taking it fully into his mouth, feeling it tighten and pulse as he slid back off. Crowley gasped and clutched at him eagerly, a stream of mingled endearments and obscenities falling from his lips. Aziraphale hesitated, wondering if it was odd to want to touch him even beneath that, to touch the tight furl at the base of his buttocks. Instead, he took Crowley’s length in his mouth again, then brushed his fingers over the groove just beneath his scrotum, lifting his legs and spreading them. Crowley threw one leg over his shoulder and caught his eye. Aziraphale nodded in response to the question there and kept going, even as his face grew tired, moving his mouth to stop Crowley’s hips from jerking the way they did when he got too still.</p><p>“Angel…I’m going to...going to come. If you don’t want that, you should stop now, switch to your hand or...let me...just...or...or like this. Like this is good.”</p><p>Crowley’s warning gave Aziraphale new motivation, and he kept going moving more vigorously until Crowley’s hips shook, his whole body going tight and tense. Aziraphale gave a moan of surprise as his mouth began to fill with Crowley’s salty spend, some of it dripping over his lip before he had the presence of mind to keep moving, to swallow at the back of his throat and close his lips, and then it was over, Crowley slowing and going slack. Aziraphale pulled back, covering his mouth with his hand to swallow properly, to wipe away the rest so he didn’t appear a foolish slob, but then Crowley was tugging at his collar.</p><p>“Come here, come here,” he said, so Aziraphale went, and lay down beside him. Crowley’s hands clutched at his face, cupping it, stroking his cheeks, his hair.</p><p>“You’re so perfect. Do you know that? You don’t know... Fuck, I love everything about you, you absolute bloody angel.”</p><p>These words touched something inside Aziraphale, something that made him feel as if he would bubble over like a boiling pot. His eyes burned, and, so Crowley wouldn’t see, he leaned into Crowley and held him close, focusing on the sensation of his naked body against Aziraphale’s through his habit. And when Crowley slid his hands down his back, kneading his buttocks until Aziraphale began to thrust against him, he pulled back enough to nod and agree to everything Crowley asked. Yes, he wanted to let Crowley push the habit up his body and over his head. Yes, he could slide down his pants, yes, it was all right for him to run hands and lips over his body. Yes, oh, God, yes, Crowley could take his cock into his lovely mouth, hot and slick, could flick his tongue at the head.</p><p>He watched Crowley, the enjoyment he took in pleasing Aziraphale, the wicked gleam in his eye as Aziraphale tried not to thrust, and the vigor with which he moved his serpentine body when Aziraphale could not stop himself.</p><p>After, Crowley lay beside him, his head resting on Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale thought of what he’d said that morning, the way Crowley had told him not to say it.</p><p>He lifted a hand into Crowley’s hair and began to stroke, removing the tangles he’d caused. Crowley chased his touch each time as he moved away, though he didn’t seem aware he was doing it. It made Aziraphale smile. Crowley caught his eye.</p><p>“Aziraphale, this is...this is real, right?”</p><p>“Of course it’s <em>real</em>, my dear. How could it not be real?” Even as he said it, he thought of how much it resembled a dream.</p><p>“No, it’s just...sometimes, people. Like. It’s fun for them. If like, it’s...it if <em>seems</em> real. You know. Pretending. Like a game.”</p><p><em>Oh.</em> Aziraphale swallowed.</p><p>“There’s no game, my dear, I assure you. I would hardly know how to play.”</p><p>Crowley sat up then, his body twisting as he turned to face Aziraphale, to lie beside him on the pillow, grinning.</p><p>“I didn’t think so,” he said.</p><p>Aziraphale reached out and brushed his hair off his face.</p><p>“It’s whatever you want it to be then. It’s whatever you want it to be. But I...I love you.” Crowley spoke as if he wanted to it be casual, but there was a tremulous quality to his voice, as if he’d never said those words before. Aziraphale caught the strain of it, the hope, the buried question. As if there was a right answer. And a wrong one. “Could be anything you want, angel.”</p><p>For all his reading, for all he’d known the truth of what Crowley had said even before he’d said it, he didn’t know what to do now.</p><p>“Don’t have to decide now,” Crowley said, but Aziraphale hardly registered this.</p><p><em>I love you. </em>No one had ever said those words to him, and in the books, they were so often spoken only at the end of things. He didn’t know what was supposed to come next. So he smiled, still stroking Crowley’s hair.</p><p>“Oh, but...shouldn’t you tell me tomorrow, then? You <em>know</em>, sometimes, in the heat of the moment, we say such things without really meaning to.”</p><p>To his relief, Crowley laughed.</p><p>“You absolute bastard.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughed, relaxing. He squirmed closer to Crowley and pulled him close, feeling him turn so he rested his buttocks against Aziraphale’s soft cock. He ran a hand down Crowley’s ropy arm and lifted his hair over his shoulder to kiss him on the back of the neck. Even so, he felt tense in Aziraphale’s arms.</p><p>So perhaps there was nothing wrong with doing the simplest thing he could think of. Perhaps it was a solution, of sorts, in itself.</p><p>“I love you, too, Crowley,” he said softly. Crowley took a shuddering breath Aziraphale could feel. Then he bent his arm and laid a hand over Aziraphale’s, holding tight. He was shaking.</p><p>“When I go...”</p><p>“I told you. I’ll come with you. Don’t you remember the verse from the Book of Ruth? <em>Really</em>, Crowley, it was only this morning.”</p><p>“Just...didn’t think you’d…I mean...”</p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>.” Aziraphale tightened his arms around him, held him until he stilled, and his muscles relaxed and there was only the sound of them breathing.</p><p>“I will,” Crowley said, after a while. His voice still came out choked.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>Crowley tugged free of Aziraphale’s arms, turning over in the bed to face him. He found his hand again and held it. “I’ll tell you again tomorrow. Tonight. However much you like. I love you, angel.”</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>Crowley’s smile was blinding. Aziraphale had never felt so powerful, so safe.</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale’s stomach grumbled him awake as the daylight moved into dusk. He blinked, finding himself alone atop his bed, still naked, but with one of Crowley’s blankets tucked around him. He sat up. Perhaps Crowley had gone to the toilets or to the bath?</p><p>He felt sweaty, ripe. He might have been embarrassed if not for the memory of the smell of Crowley’s body as he arched against Aziraphale, of the way Crowley had then held him and breathed him in: the things he’d said, the way he’d pressed his face and fingers into the flesh of Aziraphale’s buttocks and thighs, kissed the swell of his belly, and run his lips and tongue over Aziraphale’s pillowy chest.</p><p>Drunk with the memory of it, he fumbled through the pockets of his discarded habit for the watch face, then threw the habit over his head and fled up the stairs of the belltower. It was nearly time for Vespers.</p><p>Crowley found him in the tower just as he finished ringing the bell.</p><p>“Love watching you do that,” he said, coming up behind Aziraphale, snaking one arm around him and pulling him close, breath in his ear, the smell of it sweet like honey, mingled with his sweat. “Love how strong you are.”</p><p>Dimly, Aziraphale wondered how many times he could come in a single day. Already feeling gluttonous, he turned and found himself half-bracketed in place by Crowley, who held his other arm out, a flat white box in his hand.</p><p>“Got you something, angel,” he said, smiling. “You don’t get a lot of the good stuff in here. Want to spoil you while I can.”</p><p>He opened the box, revealing a row of small, elegant tarts. Aziraphale spotted rhubarb, peach, blueberry, apple, and—</p><p>“Made sure they sent you a pear one,” Crowley said, lifting out the fifth tart, a tiny thing, held gently in his fingers. He watched Aziraphale hopefully as he held it up to his lips, which parted automatically, more in astonishment than anything else. Aziraphale bit into the pastry, cupping his hand beneath it to catch any crumbs. It was sweet, but not too sweet, the pear baked soft so it nearly melted on his tongue, the crust of it flaky yet chewy. He could taste the butter. It had been years since he’d had anything like it, and even then, that had just been a slice of home-baked pie Tracy had slipped him. He let Crowley feed him the last of it, and then, overcome with something fierce and protective and needy, he wrapped his arms around Crowley and held on.</p><p>“How did you—? What are you?” he murmured into Crowley’s hair, wild and mussed from a day full of pleasure. “Tempter, yes, certainly, but I can’t imagine anyone less aptly called a demon. I’ve always thought it...a rather ugly term for anyone, but for you…”</p><p>Crowley stiffened, for just a moment. “Aziraphale…”</p><p>“How did you come by these, my darling? You are an absolute miracle. How else could you...oh, but I think what I really mean is, how on earth could I ever make you as happy as I am in this moment? As happy as you make me?”</p><p>“You do. You already do.” His voice vibrated through both of them. Aziraphale wanted to always feel it when Crowley spoke. He wished he could, wished he could feel his every motion, his every thought. “Just...just let me keep doing it, yeah? That’s all. Want to give you so much.”</p><p>All Aziraphale could do was hold on, nodding, burrowing his head deeper into Crowley’s silky curls, and breathing in the scent of him.</p><p>Finally, they broke apart and sank to the cool stone floor, where Aziraphale ate the pastries and watched Crowley lazily braid his hair as the sun went down.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: oral sex; manual sex (all sex takes place on church grounds); semipublic sex (sort of accidental--no one knew anyone was watching or even watched anyone else intentionally); casual mentions of childhood psychological abuse involving issues of bodily autonomy</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>...and their idyll comes to an end. Aziraphale copes the only way he knows how—with denial and sex and self-directed torture.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before Aziraphale knew it, it had been nearly four weeks since the Archangels had departed, and he had to make up for lost time, spending his mornings in the library, churning out the last few homilies for Gabriel. It was difficult, poring over them now, with the knowledge of Crowley in his rooms, waiting for him. The competing knowledge that as Gabriel’s arrival grew nearer, so did Crowley’s departure. And now, Aziraphale’s own. He couldn’t imagine it. He’d never been out of the church for longer than an afternoon. He had no idea what to picture, or how he would even manage. They didn’t talk about it much. Crowley said they’d play it by ear, just walk out, he said, find their way to the City somehow—maybe find someone to give them a ride, someone who wouldn’t recognize them and turn them in. Or they could just catch a train. Go anywhere.</p><p>They’d have to work, Aziraphale knew. He thought of Crowley, taking on clients, people who would give him money to sample the touch of him, the sight of him, and he felt ill. But he had no idea what <em>he</em> could do for money, trained as he was only in reading and writing homilies. What use could he have to anyone but Gabriel? Who would look at Aziraphale and not find him wanting? Yes, there was Crowley, who loved him, Aziraphale knew, but...outside the church, even he might feel differently. He didn’t know how to run a home, how to find friends, or how to learn a trade, how to find employment. He did not say these things to Crowley. He was embarrassed to be so afraid, so ignorant, and yet so sure in his knowledge that he would fail Crowley in any facsimile of a life they might attempt together. He knew Crowley, worldly and full of hope, would be disappointed with him outside these walls. So he tried to hold on to this place in time, to forget that one day this idyll would end.</p><p>And then, one morning, without preamble and days before he’d expected it, it did.</p><p>He had slipped away to the baths and then to the library before sunup, leaving Crowley fast asleep and nestled beneath the covers and his extra blankets, which were rarely used at night any longer, unless it was especially cold and they needed them on their bed. Aziraphale liked to add them if he got up and left Crowley, to make up for the lost body heat. Crowley, he had discovered, grew cold easily, could wake up with it, shivering, hands and feet (and sometimes, even his ears and nose) like ice.</p><p>The library was usually quiet in the morning, except on days when Tracy cleaned. She had shifted to a morning schedule to match Aziraphale’s, she said, so she could see him, since he now spent his afternoons “gallivanting around with your <em>Angel</em>.” This last was always delivered with a wink, and Aziraphale’s blush, so intense in the early days, had now ceased to make an appearance at the words. Instead there was only the thrill at the acknowledgement of Crowley in his life, the feeling of it made more real at the idea that someone else had seen it and approved.</p><p>But that morning, when Tracy entered, she did not begin cleaning. Which made sense, as she had cleaned only the day before, and with the Angels away, there was little for her to do here beyond light dusting.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Tracy said, her voice hushed, as if there might be others in the empty room.</p><p>He turned, frowning at her tone.</p><p>“Aziraphale, pet…” she shook her head, looking almost grief-stricken. “Gabriel is back, love. He’s back. You and your...and <em>Crowley</em> need to be very, very careful.”</p><p>She’d never said his name before, but then she’d never spoken of him so solemnly, either. Now she hesitated and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s arm.</p><p>“I expect...I expect he’ll need to be on his way now, sweet. You’ll need to say goodbye. For now at least.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s mouth opened, but he could not think of what to say. He felt suddenly foolish, as if he’d been disarmed, or rather, caught in a fight entirely weaponless.</p><p>“But Gabriel...he’s to return <em>next week</em>,” he finally said. “Why is he here now? Are they all back? Is something wrong?”</p><p>“I don’t know, love. All I know is, I went in to clean the vestry, and the Virtue what’s been doing the services was clearing out. She said Gabriel’s back last night after Vespers.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt his lip wobble, Tracy’s hand close on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.</p><p>“Oh, pet,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll see each other again. Maybe you could...slip off somewhere? Now and again?”</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t have the heart to explain, so he nodded. Tracy waited a few moments, then sighed.</p><p>“I’ll leave you to it, then, love,” she said. “Just let me know how I can help.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded again. In a daze, he read over the last sentence he’d written, added the final line he’d been thinking of, and stacked the papers atop one another. Yes, it would do. He recapped his fountain pen and tucked it all into his satchel. He’d warn Crowley first. He’d have to stay in the room, or the tower at least. Perhaps, once he knew where Gabriel was, they might venture back to the library, but certainly there could be no more lazy afternoons kissing in the gardens, hands sliding beneath habits under cover of trees.</p><p>Then he’d leave the papers in the vestry. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before Gabriel summoned him, and he dreaded it. He wasn’t sure he could keep the anger out of his voice, his face. He hadn’t realized it before, how much of it there was.</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale heard water running, shutting off, as he approached his tower room. Crowley was in the showers. The halls still seemed empty—had Gabriel come back alone, then, without the other Angels? <em>Had</em> something happened?</p><p>Aziraphale shut himself into his bedroom and sat on the bed, twisting his hands together until they hurt. He needed to calm down. He needed to sort this out. Perhaps he should just go to Gabriel? Find out why he was back so soon. Perhaps Gabriel might leave again? And he and Crowley could—</p><p>The door opened, quiet, but bold. Crowley didn’t know he was there, and he stopped abruptly at the sight of him. He was dressed in nothing but a towel, and it did nothing at all to hide the state of him. Aziraphale forgot Gabriel and crossed the room in two steps.</p><p>“Angel, back early?” Crowley said.</p><p>“I suppose I sensed you had need of me,” Aziraphale said. <em>What if this is the last time?</em> He thought, as he sank to his knees, his hands covering Crowley’s where he held the towel, coaxing it free. It fell to the floor and Crowley let his head fall back to rest against the door as Aziraphale took him into his mouth.</p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley said. “Fuck, angel, what…?”</p><p>Aziraphale had grown practiced at this, and now he sank down to the hilt and pulled back again, Crowley gasping and groaning. His knees seemed to give out and Aziraphale reacted quickly, catching him, cupping the back of his wet head.</p><p>“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry.”</p><p>Crowley clung to him.</p><p>“No...no harm done.” His eyes went wide as Aziraphale lifted him and laid him gently on the bed. “Fuck.”</p><p>“Could we…”</p><p>“A bit late for that, yeah? We can, angel. ’Course we can. Get your bed all wet, though.”</p><p>“We’ll ruin the sheets anyway,” Aziraphale said. He supposed he’d better see to the laundry before the other Angels got back, because even with the ways Crowley knew to catch everything, to keep things clean and discreet, during all their lazy days and sleepless nights they had made quite the mess between them, the hamper now quite full of soiled habits and sheets.</p><p>Crowley laughed.</p><p>Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s shoulders back into the pillow and kissed his neck, then kissed his way down his bony sternum, the muscles of his abdomen, then he drew his legs apart and moved between them, kissing down his cock again before taking it into his mouth, letting his fingers cup his scrotum, then brush lower, circling, homing in.</p><p>“Ah,” Crowley gasped. “Angel, w—do you want—hey, hey, look at me?”</p><p>Aziraphale stopped, looked up at him. His chest, which had swooped with adrenaline, began to feel heavy again as the thoughts he’d been avoiding crowded in again. This could be the last time, he thought again. He wanted to lie down against Crowley, to cover his body with his, to wring a lifetime worth of pleasure from him, give him a lifetime of love.</p><p>“Hey...do you want that? Just...you’ve never said. We’ve never...”</p><p>“Want what, Crowley?” It came out sharper than he intended and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. “To touch you?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, but <em>there</em>, I mean—usually—”</p><p>“Oh. I’m...<em>sorry</em>,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean—I don’t know, that is, I thought—you said I could touch you—”</p><p>Crowley shook his head. “Hey, no, it’s good. Just. It usually means. Which would be fine. Good. I’d love it, I mean. Just.” His hand had moved lower, circling his own cock and he stroked it now, making Aziraphale go slack-jawed, his mouth watering. But he was confused.</p><p>“So you’d <em>like</em> for me to touch you there?” Aziraphale said, frowning. Then why had Crowley stopped him?</p><p>Crowley stared, his lips parting as if he were realizing something.</p><p>“<em>Aziraphale</em>,” he said, smirking slightly.</p><p>Why did it seem that everyone knew things this morning, that he did not?</p><p>“What?” he said, unable to keep the frustration, the pleading out of his voice.</p><p>“Hey.” Crowley took his hand off his cock and reached for Aziraphale. His hand rested over Aziraphale’s, flat on the mattress. “Are you all right? Do you want to stop? We don’t have to do this.”</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t want to stop. I’m sorry, Crowley. I…” he ran one hand over the plane of Crowley’s stomach, watched him quiver. Yes, this was what he wanted. What he needed. To lose himself in Crowley. ”You’re so lovely.”</p><p>Crowley closed his eyes and gave a little gasp that went straight to Aziraphale’s cock.</p><p>“OK, OK, good. Watch me, OK? I’ll show you what I want.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. Crowley’s eyes on his were cautious, almost afraid. He drew one leg up and Aziraphale rested his hand on his knee. He watched Crowley as he breathed deep, and sighed, letting his body go limp.</p><p>“The oil…”</p><p>Aziraphale bent over, picked it up, and poured some onto Crowley’s outstretched hand. He set the bottle back down and Crowley took his hand, coating their fingers with oil, then he lay back, sliding his hand between his own legs, bypassing his cock and trailing his fingers around his hole.</p><p>Aziraphale swallowed. Crowley traced himself, then slowly pressed the tip of his curved finger there until he opened around it and it disappeared. Aziraphale’s breathing grew heavy, shallow as Crowley teased himself further, his abdomen contracting, his body lifting.</p><p>“Touch me,” he said, but it was light, just a suggestion. Aziraphale bent forward and kissed him, let Crowley take his hand and position it at his entrance. Aziraphale kissed his stomach and thighs then pulled back, bending his knees beneath him, to watch as Crowley opened to his touch, taking him in. Aziraphale gasped, his cock throbbing.</p><p>“Slow,” Crowley said, his oiled hand sliding over Aziraphale’s wrist. “Easy.”</p><p>“Of course, yes,” Aziraphale said, distractedly. Inside, Crowley felt hot, slick, and so tight, even around just the tip of his finger. Aziraphale bent forward to kiss the inside of his thigh. This was...vulnerable, he realized, in a way they hadn’t been before. “It’s all right, my dear. It’s all right. I’ll be careful with you.”</p><p>“You’re always careful,” Crowley whispered. “Always so good. Love you.”</p><p>At this, Aziraphale could not look at his face, so earnest when he said these things, even contorted with pleasure. Instead, he wiggled his finger slowly, pushing in deeper, stilling when Crowley hissed.</p><p>“It doesn’t hurt?” he asked.</p><p>“No, no, feels good. Just...pull out, and use two fingers this time.”</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale managed. He complied, watching with a kind of dull awe as his fingers disappeared inside of Crowley, where he stretched open to take him, and how, <em>how</em> had he not known about this? The heat enveloping his hand suffused his whole body. His cock almost seemed to burn as Crowley writhed, twitching against his touch, his hands both gripping the bedsheets. Aziraphale was engrossed, absorbed in responding to Crowley’s movements, the growl in his voice as he shouted, “Yes, there, yes, so fucking perfect.” He was shocked out of his trance when Crowley convulsed and came across his own abdomen.</p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley murmured. “Sorry, angel. Sorry, I—”</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale said again. “Oh. Should I…”</p><p>Crowley’s hand found his wrist, tugged gently until Aziraphale’s fingers slipped out.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. His head felt fuzzy, and he was painfully aroused, his cock straining and Crowley was apologizing, and how had he <em>come</em> just from—?</p><p>“Was going to let you fuck me,” Crowley said. “Still could? Later, if you still want?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>“<em>No,</em>” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, I couldn’t...I didn’t know. I—oh, you must think I’m awfully foolish, but I...”</p><p>“Not foolish. Never foolish,” Crowley hissed. He sat up, and Aziraphale stood and picked up the towel from the floor. He turned to wipe Crowley off, but he took the towel from Aziraphale’s hand and did it himself.</p><p>“You OK?” he said, quietly, looking down at himself, rather than at Aziraphale. Aziraphale did not miss the tension in him, the odd way he had of moving less, of going still, when he was concerned. He tossed the towel to the floor on the other side of the bed, the spot where he’d once spent his nights, and reached one arm out, tentative. “Come here?”</p><p>Aziraphale went to him, and pulled him close. Crowley sighed, his body relaxing against Aziraphale’s.</p><p>“OK?” he repeated, but already he sounded less worried.</p><p>“Oh, darling. I’m quite all right. I was only startled. Please don’t apologize. You were so beautiful that way. Only, I didn’t know that...you could...”</p><p>Crowley’s hand was tugging at Aziraphale’s habit. He lifted his hips to let the habit slide up, to admit Crowley’s hand into the waistband of his undergarment. He closed his eyes as he wrapped his oiled hand around him and began to stroke, slick and deft.</p><p>“Could try again,” Crowley whispered, his lips on Aziraphale’s neck. His tongue darted out, hot and wet against his skin. “If you want.”</p><p>Aziraphale moaned. He thought of his fingers slipping into Crowley, of what it would be like to push into him and bury his cock there instead. <em>To fuck </em>him, to use Crowley’s vernacular. He pictured Crowley, writhing beneath him, the tight clench of him on his cock, the way it would feel to be inside him, to share his body as he came, and the moan deepened.</p><p>But no, he could never let himself lose control that way, not with Crowley, so thin, his limbs, his bones so light...It would have to be the other way. But could <em>he</em> come that way, from Crowley, buried deep inside of him? His hips moving, pushing into him, writhing inside of him. He found himself entranced at the thought. Would Crowley want that?</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can...can…”</p><p>“Shh,” Crowley’s hand moved on his cock, his thumb brushing against the head, and he felt a pulse, a trickle of moisture there. Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s neck. “Don’t have to. Don’t have to.”</p><p>“Oh. Oh, Crowley. <em>Crowley</em>.”</p><p>“This is perfect, perfect angel. ’S what you are. My perfect angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale whimpered, his head thrashing, his hand digging into Crowley’s arm.</p><p>“Yeah, just like that. Like that, angel. So good. There you go. Perfect.”</p><p>He came into Crowley’s hand, and Crowley kissed him, told him again that he was perfect, and held him as he trembled, his mind hazy, his body lax.</p><p>After, they walked to the showers together, Crowley’s hair still damp from his first attempt at cleanliness. His arm was red—bruising?—where Aziraphale had held him. He burned with shame. And just after he’d promised to be careful with him. Just at the <em>thought</em> of doing what Crowley wanted. How could he trust Aziraphale to...to… No. He couldn’t think of it. But now, he couldn’t <em>not</em> think of it. Couldn’t not <em>want</em> it.</p><p>He would tell him about Gabriel, yes. But not now. Not like this. Gabriel rarely came to the tower. Perhaps they could have just this morning. Perhaps he could take some time to think.</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale showered in silence, dragging it out in his stall as Crowley cleaned himself up and slipped away. He called out something about tea, breakfast, and Aziraphale called back, “All right,” before remembering that he shouldn’t have, that he still hadn’t warned Crowley about Gabriel, that it wasn’t safe for him anymore. If it ever had been. He’d hurt him. There could be no further question of his accompanying Crowley. He didn’t deserve to. He toweled himself off and threw on fresh clothing before he went back to his room, hoping to catch Crowley before he left, but as he opened the door, he saw the satchel where he’d left it on top of the desk. He’d been meant to take the homilies to Gabriel, and then… Gabriel. Aziraphale felt his face contort, wobbling as he tried to restrain himself. Ah, but Crowley was already frowning at him.</p><p>“All right?” He came closer, took his forearms. Aziraphale couldn’t look at him. He took a step back, away from him, even as Crowley tried to pull him into an embrace.</p><p>“I have to—” he gestured at his satchel.</p><p>“Weren’t you just in the library?”</p><p>“I’m not going to the library, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He sighed. This was really possibly the worst way, the worst time, but it wasn’t as if things would get better. “Gabriel is back.”</p><p>Crowley’s lips parted with surprise. “So—”</p><p>“Could we discuss it when I return?”</p><p>“Yeah. Right. Ah, when…do you think?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have told you right away, only…”</p><p>“It’s all right. Just...how should we, right, when you get back.”</p><p>“I’ll bring up some breakfast. You should probably...stay here. He might...might be looking for me, so. So. Well.”</p><p>Crowley didn’t argue. Aziraphale paused a moment, expectant, but he said nothing, just watched him, looking the way Aziraphale had felt that morning when Tracy had told him, as if there were something that could be said to fix everything, if he could only find it. For a moment, Aziraphale wanted to tell him he’d leave with him, but he knew that he couldn’t, that it would only make things worse for both of them in the long run. He forced a smile and turned, pulling open the door.</p><p>“Angel,” Crowley said. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll...we’ll figure it out, yeah?”</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t look at him. He pressed his eyes closed and held himself as still as he could. “Of course we will, my dear. Yes.”</p>
<hr/><p>Gabriel, as it happened, was not in the vestry. Aziraphale left the homilies stacked on the desk and started for the kitchen, both relieved and nervous. He wasn’t ready to have this discussion with Crowley. He didn’t even know exactly what he would say.</p><p>He entered the bedroom, setting the basket of bread and fruit he’d gathered down on the bed, the tea on the desk.</p><p>“You should leave,” he said, his voice level. When he’d entered, Crowley had been stood at the window, looking out, his hair scraped back into a tight braid, the dark glasses he’d all but discarded in days past held in his fingers.</p><p>He’d turned now, and set down the glasses, and Aziraphale did not miss the hurt in his eyes. He looked down at the floor, at his own feet, and hated the sight of them, pale and clumsy-looking in his sandals, the nails wide.</p><p>“But you’ll come with me,” Crowley said, carefully.</p><p>Aziraphale forced a little laugh. “Crowley, come now. Listen to yourself. I’ve never been anywhere. I’d only...I’d only cause trouble. Make things more difficult for you.”</p><p>His hand digging into Crowley’s arm. <em>I’ll be careful with you.</em> But he hadn’t been. Not enough. He couldn’t be. Couldn’t be anything other than what he was. Not really.</p><p>Crowley glanced at the food, then crossed the room, he reached out, resting his hands on Aziraphale’s arms, but Aziraphale stepped back. He didn’t deserve this, shouldn’t let Crowley comfort him.</p><p>“Crowley, don’t. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“What are you talking about, angel? Make things difficult for me? You’ve never made <em>anything</em> difficult for me,” Crowley was hissing, angry.</p><p>Aziraphale made himself look at him, his stomach clenching. But Crowley’s face wasn’t angry, so much as afraid.</p><p>“You said yourself, the Demons wouldn’t exactly welcome—”</p><p>“I don’t care about that. Doesn’t matter about that. I told you—I want us to go off somewhere. Big world out there. No one would care anything about Demons and Angels. No one would know us. No one would even notice us. What happened to...book of Ruth, wasn’t it? Well then, If you’re not coming, maybe I’m not going.”</p><p>“Crowley.”</p><p>He reached out again, and Aziraphale flinched.</p><p>“Well, OK, then,” Crowley said, eyes wide. “Right.” He stood there a moment, watching Aziraphale, as if hoping something would change.</p><p>Aziraphale looked away from him.</p><p>Crowley glanced at the door, sighed, and stormed off toward the window, where he sank to the floor, back against the bed between them. With Gabriel in the church, it was as far as he could go without actually leaving.</p><p>“I suppose I should go to the library, then,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crowley didn’t look at him when he spoke. “Was it...too much, this morning? Shouldn’t have...shouldn’t have assumed, I know. Just thought. You don’t have to...we never have to—”</p><p><em>No</em>. He couldn’t let him blame himself.</p><p>“I hurt you,” Aziraphale said. “After I promised I wouldn’t. I thought...perhaps it would be all right for us to...to try, with Gabriel away, and you seemed so...willing. But. Well. Perhaps not. Not all right, I mean. Now you see what I...how I am. It will only become clearer outside the church. You’d only...you’d tire of me. And then what would I do? I’ve never been out!”</p><p>Aziraphale had spoken without thinking, regretting it before he’d even finished. If he’d let Crowley believe that he was angry, rather than worried, maybe he’d have agreed to leave without Aziraphale.</p><p>Crowley stood up. “What are you talking about? I’d never get tired of you. Together all the time, we are and I...I’ve...I fucking see you, angel. Remember? So, look, you can <em>learn</em> what you want to do out there. What you <em>can </em>do. You’re so clever, so...People...people start over all the time. Is it because <em>he</em>’s back, the wanker? Did he say something?”</p><p>“Crowley, please stop making excuses for me. I <em>hurt</em> you.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“This morning. When we...when you pleasured me.”</p><p>“When I <em>pleasured—</em>”</p><p>“Whatever you wish to call it.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, you <em>didn’t</em>. Why would you even think—?”</p><p>“I <em>saw</em>, Crowley! I saw your arm after, where I’d held it when I...” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet with shame.</p><p>Crowley stared at him, then fingered the sleeves of his habit, which fitted a little too snugly to be pulled up. He undid the belt instead, and pulled the whole garment off in one motion, then, naked, he came back around the bed. Aziraphale kept his eyes on the floor.</p><p>“Crowley…”</p><p>“Show me, angel. Where you think you hurt me.”</p><p>Aziraphale raised his eyes to Crowley’s arm. He lifted his hand and traced fingers over the lean muscle of his upper arm where it had been red. There was nothing but warm skin, the light covering of soft, rust-colored hair, bristling against his fingers.</p><p>“Does it hurt at all?”</p><p>“No,” Crowley said. He smiled, tentative, hopeful. “OK?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. He withdrew his hand and smiled back, still biting his lip. He felt foolish, sorry, but not sure how to apologize for this, or exactly what he’d be apologizing for.</p><p>“Can I touch you?” Crowley asked.</p><p>Something broke and crashed down inside of Aziraphale and he all but fell forward, wrapping his arms around Crowley and resting his head against his shoulder. Crowley turned his head and spoke into his ear, a low, seductive purr.</p><p>“Come with me.”</p><p><em>Tempter</em>, Aziraphale thought, for the first time in a long time. And then he understood. It had all been fear, just fear, so much of it he hadn’t known where to put it. But he no longer wanted to harbor it. He couldn’t let it stop him, not just because it now all felt real, not now that it counted.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. “Yes...I...yes.”</p><p>Crowley kissed him, hard and sudden, surprising him even as he held on.</p><p>“Don’t let him make you feel guilty for wanting something. For having something. We’ll figure it out.” He buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. Soft skin there against his, Crowley’s bright, silky hair pressed against his face. “Together, yeah?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded again, unwilling to pull away, even to look at him. Crowley was in his arms, Crowley, the beautiful miracle of him, whole and unmarred, and somehow his.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: surprise anal fingering; miscommunication re: sex (but nothing traumatic, just a result of their different experience levels); injuries during sex (surprisingly, not related to the previous cw on this list). This sounds like some of the worst anal fingering ever, but I promise it's not like that!</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Interlude 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabriel works late his first day back at the cathedral. (I'm so sorry.)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The Virtues had not lived up to their names. Gabriel shouldn’t have been surprised. His first day back, he’d needed to work late to get things back in shape, and after checking in with the second choir Angels he’d left managing things in his absence, he stopped by the staff kitchen at the end of their hall, in search of a quick drink of water. He was tired, and it would save him the trouble of sullying and cleaning his own kitchen.</em>
</p><p><em>The Demon—because there was only one Gabriel would ever recognize like this—was standing in the kitchen. Gabriel almost doubted it. How could this Demon be standing here, casually drinking fresh milk from a steaming mug, as if he belonged here? Perhaps he </em>could<em>, Gabriel thought, if he played his cards right. He let his eyes rove over the cascading hair, the narrow waist, the firm, corded calves peeking out of that habit. The telltale sunglasses lying on the counter.</em></p><p><em>“Anthony </em>Jezebel<em> Crowley,” he said. “What brings you to my kitchen in the depth of night?”</em></p><p>
  <em>The Demon flinched, then seemed to forcibly relax, his spine swaying as he headed toward the sink. Gabriel admired the way he moved, even dressed as he was in some angel’s discarded habit, but he didn’t miss the way the Demon sneered as he pushed in closer, blocking his path to the sink, sliding the sunglasses along the counter, out of his reach.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ah, ah, ah” Gabriel held up a finger and swayed it back and forth. “Let me take care of that. Guest, aren’t you?” He let his hand close around the now empty mug, covering the Demon’s. His fingernails, Gabriel noticed, still had tiny flakes of gold near the cuticles, and as he pushed in closer, he caught the familiar smell of neroli and rose-scented soap. He’d been in the Archangels’ bath, then. The nerve. The Demon ignored him and dodged, wrenching away. He set the mug in the sink and turned on the water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel stepped closer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Come back with me. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable,” Gabriel said, pressing his body against the Demon’s back, feeling the lithe, slender frame against his own. He trailed a hand down his arm, feeling firm muscle there. He sighed involuntarily at the feel of him. “You wouldn’t have to do your own dishes.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s sanctuary,” the Demon said. “You have to leave me alone.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Au contraire. We only have to keep outside threats away from you. I could keep you safe from the others.” Gabriel lifted the heavy hair, glowing in the candlelight. He ran his fingers down the Demon’s long neck, feeling a hot bolt of rage as he flinched away.</em>
</p><p><em>“That’s not what </em>Sanctuary<em> means,” the Demon said. There was something almost sweet about him. Naive. None of the bite he’d had out on the street.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Well, it’s irrelevant,” Gabriel said. The Demon started washing the mug in earnest, and his shoulders shifted, bumping against Gabriel’s arms. Gabriel pulled back, took two big steps away. “I’m certainly not threatening to hurt you. After all, you’re off the streets. And this kind of temptation is...well, hardly a crime. No, no, I’m just reminding you that you’re in my home. You can stay, certainly. On my terms.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Which are?” The Demon looked over his shoulder at Gabriel, like a temptress. He had to know what he was doing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel held out his hand. But the Demon only glanced at it, frowning, before turning back to his task. “Come back with me.”</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>Back<em> with you?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“To my bed.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Demon whirled and spat at Gabriel’s feet. “I would never. Not for anything.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel stared at him, those eyes, bright even in the dim candlelight. An abomination, he thought. Like all Demons. And an unabashed tempter. Without even the decency to look afraid of an Archangel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fine,” he said. “But you won’t like what happens now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Demon’s serpent eyes went wide, but Gabriel just smiled at him, then turned and walked away. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: inappropriate and unwanted touching, abuse of power, sexual entitlement, attempt at sexual coercion. If you read this and are concerned about whether you should read this interlude, feel free to ask me for more details here or on tumblr (@leilakalomi).</p><p>Chapter 9 next week!</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After Crowley's run-in with Gabriel in the kitchen, everything changes. Hard conversations and another shocking revelation about Gabriel's intentions lead to a difficult decision.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a hard chapter, and it is the first of several. Please double-check the tags. I have added a new one (non-graphic violence), that is relevant for future chapters, though not for this one. Still, for this chapter, it's important to be aware of the potentially triggering material at the heart of this fic. The racism/genocide tags are relevant here, and there is a somewhat difficult conversation about what happened in the kitchen.</p><p>Further cw in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale woke up cold, dread creeping in before he could even remember why. His arms, when he reached them out, met only cool sheets, and he sat up, frantic. Crowley’s blanket was still there, his folded trousers and the lace jacket he’d worn before. Nothing was odd, nothing left behind for Aziraphale, nothing missing that shouldn’t have been—except Crowley himself, of course. And the cold spot that meant that he hadn’t been there for some time. Aziraphale didn’t dare to turn on a light. What if Gabriel had found them out? He went to the door of his room and kept still, quiet until he was satisfied there was no one there, then he opened the door and crept into the hall. No one was in the bath; the kitchen was empty, the belltower frigid and deserted. Aziraphale tried to tamp down his panic.</p><p>They’d talked, they’d worked this out. They’d slip away this Sunday during Terce. While most of Tadfield was at the service, they’d dress in some of the civilian clothes Aziraphale had and make their way to the back of the churchyard. They’d slip out, through the gap in the fence, cut through the Alley (Crowley knew a short cut) to the train station, and be in the next country by nightfall. Together. He’d nodded along with Crowley’s suggestions, even though he was terrified. He’d let Crowley comfort him, tell him again how brave he was, wrap him in his arms and hold him until his heart slowed and he could breathe deep again.</p><p>He’d told Crowley he loved him as he slipped off to sleep.</p><p>But where was he? He nearly started for the library, but stopped by his room instead, just to check.</p><p>“Angel!”</p><p>Crowley was there, on the bed, looking up at the door. Just a dark shape, really, Aziraphale couldn’t make anything out of his features, except that his hair, which had been down earlier, had been scraped back into a tight braid. He went to him, sitting beside him, one arm around him. He felt light and warm.</p><p>“Oh, my love there you are,” he breathed, smelling the rose and neroli scent of the soap they shared. He wanted to wrap him up, pull him back into the bed and hold him, but he could feel that Crowley was tense, that he wasn’t relaxing, even when Aziraphale touched him.</p><p>“Aziraphale, we have to go,” Crowley said, his voice little more than a hiss. “We have to...just go now.”</p><p>“What? Crowley, surely it can wait until tomorrow at least?”</p><p>“No, no. I—I saw Gabriel. He saw <em>me</em>, I mean. He doesn’t know I’m <em>here</em>, with you, but, angel. He—”</p><p>“He <em>saw</em> you? What happened? Are you all right?”</p><p>Crowley didn’t answer, but he turned his body toward Aziraphale’s, wrapping both arms around him tightly, almost too tightly.</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>“He—look, maybe it’s better if I don’t. Don’t say. Just trust me, it was—”</p><p>“Did he <em>hit</em> you?” Aziraphale tried to pull back to look at Crowley, but Crowley’s hold didn’t relent. “Oh, my dear, are you hurt?”</p><p>Crowley made a noise like a small, frightened animal. “No, I’m fine, but, angel...did he...did he ever <em>hit you</em>?”</p><p>Aziraphale felt suddenly embarrassed. He thought of Crowley’s present that day on the belltower, how happy he’d been to give Aziraphale desserts; he hadn’t known Aziraphale had been reprimanded for eating them. He had never told Crowley about what had happened all those years ago.</p><p>“Only once,” he said finally.</p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley said. He let go of Aziraphale almost abruptly, brushing back his already slicked back hair. “That’s it. We’re going. If we don’t, I might kill him, and then we’ll never get away.”</p><p>Aziraphale shivered. He’d never seen Crowley like this. Crowley stalked over to his side of the bed, picked up his meager set of possessions in one hand, then looked up at Aziraphale.</p><p>“Angel?”</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, forcing himself to remain calm. “Will you tell me what happened?”</p><p>Crowley winced, closing his eyes as if in pain. He tossed the clothes to the floor and Aziraphale heard the soft thwack of leather against stone. Crowley sank back down on the bed, on the other side from Aziraphale, the side Aziraphale usually slept on. Aziraphale hesitated, then reached out to take his hand. Crowley squeezed it, but then let go and turned around, bending one leg up onto the bed. Even in the dark, Aziraphale recognized the plea in his expression.</p><p>“He...look, Aziraphale, I’m...other people don’t see me the way…” He sighed, and when he spoke again, the pleading had gone from his voice. Instead, he sounded flat, emotionless. “He asked me to go to bed with him. He...put his hands on me. Not like to hurt me. Just. He thought, I guess, you know, since I. Do that.”</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t speak. He felt hot, sick. None of this made sense. He tried to seize on something that did.</p><p>“He touched you…?”</p><p>“Just my arms, like, but he talked in my ear, pushed up against me.”</p><p>Aziraphale tried to picture this, found his lips pressing together tightly, his eyes squeezing shut. He swallowed and opened them again.</p><p>“You’re sure you’re not mistaken? That perhaps you misunderstood what he meant?”</p><p>“I think I bloody well know when I’m being propositioned.”</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t think. A buzzing seemed to permeate his thoughts, the room seemed hot and close.</p><p>“Did you go with him?” he asked. He swallowed, but it did nothing to stop the feeling of something rising into his mouth. Because <em>of course</em>. Gabriel would find a way to ruin this, to take it and turn it into something that would hurt the way everything always did.</p><p>“<em>What</em>? No, of course I—<em>did I go with him?</em>—no, I <em>didn’t</em> go to bed with that <em>bloody wanker</em>. I wouldn’t. Told him that, not for anything.”</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.</p><p>“Went to the library when I left. Didn’t want to lead him back here. Waited a long time before I came back.”</p><p>“Where—?”</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake you. Went down to the kitchen for some hot milk and there he was, just when I’d finished up. Didn’t want to wake you,” Crowley repeated. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have...gone.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s head swam. Gabriel had his own quarters and never used the lower staff kitchen unless he was dining with Aziraphale...or on occasion Sandalphon and his Guardians. Was Sandalphon back too? He shuddered.</p><p>He thought of Crowley’s wrists bound the way they had been that day in the square. He thought of Gabriel, touching Crowley, and Crowley unable to resist him. Crowley, sitting beside him now, twisting his face away from Aziraphale’s as if he were afraid of what he might think, as if he might not believe him. It made him furious at Gabriel. And yet...</p><p>It wasn’t that he <em>doubted</em> Crowley. It was more that he couldn’t <em>believe</em> him, not exactly.</p><p>“I have to talk to him,” he said.</p><p>“What? You can’t <em>ask</em> him about this. Then he’d know—”</p><p>“No, no, it’s just...well, you did misunderstand <em>my</em> intentions when you first arrived.”</p><p>“Did I?” Crowley said. He laughed softly. “No, I know. But that was...I mean, you didn’t do anything to make me think that. I just…”</p><p>“Saw what you expected to see?”</p><p>Crowley tilted his head in a tiny shrug. “More what I wanted to see, maybe. This isn’t like that.”</p><p>“Well, perhaps it was a trap of sorts. If he could convince you to come with him and engage in...well...then that would be a crime and he could arrest you.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t be a crime if I agreed to what <em>he</em> was asking. Or at least, I wouldn’t be the one guilty.”</p><p>“Crowley, I’m sorry, my dear.”</p><p>“But you don’t believe me.”</p><p>“Well, I do find it hard to believe that <em>Gabriel</em> would really—<em>sincerely</em>, I should say, I don’t dispute the <em>facts</em> of what you say happened—but I do find it hard to imagine that he would...desire a…”</p><p>Crowley tensed.</p><p>“...a man.”</p><p>Crowley’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, well. You’d be surprised.”</p><p>Aziraphale tugged at the covers and shifted so he could slide in. “Could we go back to bed, do you think?”</p><p>“Hold on, let me lock the door.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, though he doubted it would be much of an obstacle if any of the Archangels really wanted to enter.</p><p>As Crowley slid in next to him, Aziraphale reached out and pulled him close. He didn’t miss the way he tensed, then went slack. Aziraphale lifted his arm away.</p><p>“Should I not? Just to sleep.”</p><p>“No...no, it’s good. I love you, angel.” It sounded resigned, almost bitter, but Crowley relaxed and clutched at Aziraphale’s retreating hand. Aziraphale pressed his eyes closed and leaned forward, hugging Crowley to him. He rested his forehead a moment against the articulated bones of his neck and breathed in the smell of him, loving the way his soap smelled on Crowley. He pushed away the thoughts of Gabriel’s hands on Crowley that threatened to crowd in and sicken him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “If you want, we <em>could</em> leave tomorrow. Perhaps at Vespers. If there are trains then? I could speak with Gabriel in the morning, and then—”</p><p>“Don’t,” Crowley said. “Don’t say you’ll go if...if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“It’s only that I need a bit of time. I want to tell Tracy goodbye. And I do owe Gabriel <em>something</em>. But I couldn’t ask you to stay here any longer. Perhaps...I could meet you. Somewhere?”</p><p>There was a silence. Then Crowley spoke.</p><p>“I’ll stay. However long you need. Not leaving you here, angel. Not unless you want me to.”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale awoke to a banging at his door, loud and nearly frantic. Crowley sat up, slid to the floor and pressed himself there at the side of the bed. “Yes?” Aziraphale called. Heart pounding, he reached out for his trunk and pulled out an old habit, then stripped off his nightshirt.</p><p>“Gabriel asked me to fetch you,” came a rough voice. Probably a Guardian, Aziraphale thought as he tugged on the fresh habit, or maybe a Power. “He wants you in the vestry.”</p><p>“All right. A moment please.”</p><p>“No, just go to the vestry. Not escorting you or anything.” A Power, then. A Guardian would have loved the task of keeping him in line. A Power would resent being deputized. The footsteps moving away were heavy, plodding.</p><p>Aziraphale glanced back at the bed, where Crowley was standing up, his hair tugged out of the braid in wisps and tendrils. His eyes were red, wet.</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>He gave Aziraphale a watery smile. “Go on then,” he said. “We’ll talk when you get back.”</p><p>“I’ll bring tea,” Aziraphale said, finally. “Will you...lock the door?”</p><p>Crowley nodded and followed him to the door. Aziraphale opened it slowly, but no one was in the passageway, so he gave a sigh of relief and started for the vestry. He tried not to think of Crowley’s tears, but he couldn’t stop. Was it because of Gabriel, of what he’d done? Or because of Aziraphale, that he hadn’t believed him, that he hadn’t wanted to leave right away? Was Crowley upset with him? Perhaps he <em>had</em> been selfish. Only…</p><p>“Aziraphale! Come in, come in!” Gabriel called out. He stood up from his desk and clapped a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, rough, the blow stinging even through the habit, as it threw him off balance. “How’ve you been? Been a while, hasn’t it? Nearly six weeks!”</p><p>It had been about two weeks before he’d left that he’d told Aziraphale to stay out of his sight. So Aziraphale nodded.</p><p>“You’re early,” he said.</p><p>Gabriel laughed as if he’d said something witty.</p><p>“Early. In my own church? Yes, I <em>am</em> early! The Metatron is coming here! Can you imagine? So I’m here to get everything up to snuff. Wanted to talk to you about these homilies, see if I can’t get you to do something else for me. Something for the Metatron’s visit. A special welcome homily. Something like that. You can do that. Michael will want to look it over before I give it.”</p><p>“Michael won’t—”</p><p>“Michael is still with the Metatron. She will give a talk, of course, but so will I, so will I. Big plans, Aziraphale. We’ve all got a lot to look forward to for Lower Tadfield.”</p><p>Aziraphale forced a smile. “The Metatron is bringing changes?”</p><p>“We’re going to make some changes ourselves! I would like to get his blessing of course, but these changes will happen either way. This country...you know, it’s absolutely overrun with Demons. Do you know, I saw one in the church last night? That whore dancer of all of them. The snake. The one you got into your trouble over. Probably the most shameless, parading around as if he’s something to behold.”</p><p>It seemed to Aziraphale that Gabriel was studying him when he spoke. Aziraphale swallowed.</p><p>“Well, how…” he began, his voice faltering. He looked down, tried again. “How is that possible?”</p><p>Gabriel narrowed his eyes and surveilled Aziraphale, who forced himself to hold Gabriel’s gaze, to keep his own face impassive. Then suddenly, Gabriel relaxed, offering an assured grin.</p><p>“Of course,” he muttered, looking satisfied. “You don’t know. Well, I really don’t know, either. Couldn’t tell you. Claimed he was seeking sanctuary. You know, I only knew a Demon to do that one other time. <em>Long</em> time ago. You—Well, no matter now. But the point is that these Demons need to be reined in. And they won’t be. Can’t be. So. That leaves only one thing for it.”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“Get rid of them.”</p><p>“What? How would you propose that—”</p><p>“Find their hideout, then…” Gabriel snapped his fingers and grinned. “Something they’ll never see coming.”</p><p>“You don’t mean you’d <em>kill</em>…” Aziraphale couldn’t believe what he was saying.</p><p>“It’s the obvious solution,” Gabriel said. Aziraphale felt his mouth fall open. He felt dizzy, but Gabriel went on. “It’s what you do when there’s an overpopulation of deer in the wood. And what do you think fox hunting is? It isn’t as if people need them for food.”</p><p>“Gabriel, they’re not <em>deer</em>—”</p><p>“Don’t let’s get started on <em>this</em> again, sunshine. I don’t want to have another tedious argument about Demons. Look, just give me a homily. Well, two homilies. Something about banding together against a common enemy. Something about welcoming righteous authority. You can do that.”</p><p>Aziraphale swallowed.</p><p>“Gabriel—I can’t—”</p><p>Gabriel stopped smiling. “This is a simple request,” he said. “You should never be afraid to wield the sword of righteousness. Unless you know your hand to be unworthy.” He narrowed his eyes again, and Aziraphale thought of Crowley in his room, of Gabriel finding him there. This was not the time to take a stand and draw Gabriel’s ire and attention. He forced himself not to object.</p><p>“I will not be forgiving should you fail.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, blinking, he drew his hands together and wrung them, but they felt dead—cold and limp. As he left, he found himself shaking, feeling sick to his stomach. What had happened hardly registered. He couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t align it with anything he’d thought, anything he believed. He took his time returning to his room, trying to keep himself from shaking. He went first to the showers and stood under the hot water, trying to breathe. Then he went to the kitchens to get breakfast. He had promised Crowley.</p><p>In his room, Crowley was still in bed, his head beneath the covers. He didn’t stir until Aziraphale finally said “Crowley?”</p><p>When Crowley spoke, he sounded flat and almost angry, “What?”</p><p>“Are you...all right?”</p><p>He sat up, his hair out of the braid entirely and just slightly damp at the ends. His chest was bare. He hadn’t been sleeping then, not the whole time Aziraphale had been gone. His face wasn’t angry; instead, he looked pinched, wary.</p><p>“Just...nothing,” he said. He smiled. “It’s fine, angel. Just...I don’t see how I can stay any longer. But I don’t want to leave you.”</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to reassure him as he had the night before, but after what had happened with Gabriel that morning, it hardly seemed the thing. He had to protect him. He had to <em>do</em> something. He hesitated.</p><p>“Crowley, it <em>is</em> my intention to join you, wherever you go. Ultimately.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but...look, if I were to go...leave you, even for just a little while...after I’m gone, things might start to look different to you. And I get that. And you know, I shouldn’t expect you to want to tie yourself to me forever just because...I mean, even if you leave <em>with</em> me, and things change, I understand. OK? I won’t...you wouldn’t have to stay with me forever. If you don’t want to. It’s not like...here. I mean, it wouldn’t be.”</p><p>“That isn’t—well, I mean. I’m sure I’d <em>like</em> to stay with you. I mean, for us to stay together. <em>Ultimately</em>. But I—”</p><p>Crowley pressed his lips together and looked down at the bedding.</p><p>“Ultimately,” he said, seeming to hear it for the first time. His voice had gone tight and cold. “So—”</p><p>Aziraphale felt something break inside him. He couldn’t let Crowley finish that sentence, couldn’t let him believe in the truth of whatever conclusion he’d drawn about Aziraphale’s reasons.</p><p>“Gabriel has <em>plans</em>, I’m afraid. Oh, Crowley, it’s terrible. I have to...to try to persuade him not to go through with them. And the Metatron is coming here next week. So. Perhaps. I thought, well, if I could get an audience—”</p><p>“With the Metatron? You? You really think they’d let you speak with him?”</p><p>“I think, perhaps, if I don’t seek permission, I might find a way to, once he’s here, yes. If it’s really necessary, and it is, I’m afraid. I do know all the best routes all over the church. It’s often easy for me to escape notice when I want to.”</p><p>“So, next week, then. We’re looking at next week?” He sounded impatient. Aziraphale remembered what he’d said about Gabriel. He could understand, but this...</p><p>“Crowley…”</p><p>“<em>What?</em> They’re not going to change their plans, angel. Whatever they are. They’re not going to listen to you. They won’t. You know that, don’t you?”</p><p>“You don’t even know what they are!”</p><p>Crowley gave a short sigh. “Right. Well then?”</p><p>“Gabriel wants to...to rid Lower Tadfield of Demons. Wants to…” Aziraphale felt a deep wave of shame at even saying the words. “He wants to...not just drive them out, which would be bad enough, but….to actually kill them. All of them, Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to keep the fear out of his eyes, the sense that he was already looking into a future in which Crowley wasn’t someone who could hear his words. “And he knows where the hideout is! So you see? You have to go. You have to go<em> now</em>. To get away! And...and warn the others before it’s too late! I’ll still try, of course, because it’s absolutely <em>monstrous</em>. I never could have imagined, but—Crowley?”</p><p>Crowley wasn’t moving. He just watched Aziraphale, unblinking, then shook his head and flopped back onto the bed, an arm over his face.</p><p>“Can’t say I’m really surprised,” he said. “Did think he might not have the <em>audacity</em> to be so open about it.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared.</p><p>“Not surprised?” he stammered.</p><p>“Of course I’m not surprised. I know what it’s like to be a Demon in Tadfield, Aziraphale. Just. Usually it’s a little bit more...like a code. They say things and it’s like...if you’re listening for it, if you want to hear it, you will. Not usually so obvious. Did he say it to anyone but you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Well, then.” But this did not seem to improve Crowley’s spirits. In fact, he seemed to become even more despondent. The room went silent. Aziraphale finished his cup of tea.</p><p>“Come and eat,” he suggested, when Crowley still had not moved. Crowley sat up, slipped out of the bed and pulled a habit over his head. He did not bother to belt it before coming around to sit at the end of the bed in front of Aziraphale. He took a bun and did not protest when Aziraphale started to pour him a cup of tea.</p><p>“What do you really think, then?” he said, quietly. He bit into the bun, took a sip of his tea, watching Aziraphale with his, eyes narrowed.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“About Demons. If that’s how he talks to you about us. Is it...is it how he always talks to you? It’s what you were taught?”</p><p>“Crowley…”</p><p>“Tell me. What do you think? What <em>did</em> you think? Before all of...<em>this</em>.” He gestured to himself, to Aziraphale. “<em>After</em> all of this.” Crowley added this last in a bitter whisper. Aziraphale felt a cold wave of something flow through him, a loss, a feeling of a fraying connection, a reach with nothing at the other end to hold. Then a desperate, clawing sort of anger. <em>After</em>. As if it would end. As if Gabriel had decided for Aziraphale. But before he could respond to the insinuation, Crowley frowned and went on. “All I know’s, you think I’m not like the others. Somehow. You know, some people would say I’m one of the worst. Because of <em>what I do</em>. But, well...there are others who’d be willing to turn a blind eye to the whole <em>Demon</em> thing because they <em>want</em> to sleep with me. So. Which are you, then? Where is it you stand?”</p><p>“Stop it! Crowley, please, you can’t— How could you think—?” But Aziraphale remembered what he’d said once, as he’d stood on the belltower, hazy with pleasure. <em>I can’t imagine anyone less aptly called a demon.</em></p><p>“What else am I supposed to think? Yeah, for a while maybe it didn’t matter. Just the two of us in here, and you all sweet and pretty, claiming you didn’t want me just for...for….and looking at me like I hung the fucking stars, and now—”</p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>—”</p><p>“—finding any excuse, no matter how thin, to get out and away from me and to tell me you don’t want to come with me anymore.”</p><p>“No—”</p><p>“<em>No?</em> First you said it was because you’d hurt me, when you’ve probably never hurt anything in your life and then because you think I wouldn’t be <em>happy</em> with you when all I’ve done since I got here is <em>want</em> you and try to show you how much I...how happy... And now this. So. Just seems...But it makes me wonder if you were ever really any different than the rest of the Angels in here.”</p><p>Aziraphale gasped. <em>The </em>rest<em> of the Angels…</em></p><p>“<em>This</em> is <em>nothing</em> to do with me! It isn’t as if it was <em>my</em> suggestion to Gabriel. Crowley, please. I could never, <em>never</em> believe that anything like this was the right thing. Never. I don’t—couldn’t support something like this.”</p><p>Crowley let out a long breath, but he didn’t reply. Aziraphale hesitated and went on.</p><p>“As for Demons, well, when I was younger, I suppose that for a time I believed what Gabriel told me. But when I got a bit older, when I learned a bit more about the world—at least in theory—it seemed to me that Demons were simply people and shouldn’t be held to some separate standard, shouldn’t be painted as guilty of something just because of some ridiculous name that <em>Tadfield</em> gave them. Gabriel wasn’t my only teacher, you know, and the Archangels don’t all think the same way. It’s just, well, Gabriel is the one in charge. Of laws and such.”</p><p>Crowley was silent, still watching him, as if there were a right and wrong thing he could do now. Aziraphale sighed. He wanted to take his hand, pull him close and <em>show</em> him how he felt, but he knew that wasn’t what Crowley needed from him now. He closed his eyes against the burn in them, against the blurring vision, and felt a hot tear run down his face. He longed for Crowley to wipe it away, to wrap his arms around him and tell him that he’d done nothing wrong, but no touch stirred him. He opened his eyes and found Crowley looking down at his own lap. Had Aziraphale messed up again already?</p><p>“I thought you understood that I...I don’t think of you as…a criminal. I don’t want...I don’t want to <em>sleep with you</em> in <em>spite</em> of anything about you. I want...I, well, I love you. I know what you did for money because you told me, and I am so glad that you did, that you trusted me. Gabriel <em>has</em> tried. He has, to get me to speak with this virulence, to believe as he does. But Crowley, I don’t. I <em>have</em> learned to think for myself. At least in some matters. It isn’t as if I’ve made some <em>exception</em> for you. I only meant...when I said it, that the, the designator, which is...terrible,” Aziraphale sighed, catching his breath, hating himself for the endless stream of words that wouldn’t seem to stop pouring from him, making everything worse, no doubt, if he was to go by the way Crowley looked. “...well, it seems especially inapt for someone who has brought me such delight and such a feeling of…” Aziraphale trailed off, remembering it, that feeling of overwhelming love, absolute acceptance where now he felt only cold dread and desperation. Had Gabriel managed to take that away too? He felt more tears joining the first, felt his chest starting to clench.</p><p>“But perhaps that was a poor way to compliment you. I can understand why. I can see that. I’m sorry, my dearest, I’m so sorry. I won’t repeat it. I should have simply told you how wonderful you are. How beautiful. How much… how much joy you’d brought me. <em>Have</em> brought me. I’ve never...I’ve never felt anything like this. Any of this.” His voice wobbled. He raised his eyes then, looked at Crowley, whose shoulders had hunched, whose body was shaking, hard, his arms wrapped around himself as he sobbed silently. Aziraphale let out a ragged breath that turned to a sob and reached for Crowley, love and desire to comfort overpowering reason and fear. As he made contact with him, he worried for a second that it was too soon, that Crowley didn’t want comfort, didn’t want <em>him</em>. But Crowley whirled and wrapped himself around Aziraphale, holding him too hard, his thin arms digging in, but Aziraphale held on too, and they sobbed together.</p>
<hr/><p>“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, as his tears subsided. “I didn’t really...couldn’t...just…I just heard. That. Coming from you, and I just…”</p><p>“Crowley—”</p><p>“I’m scared, angel. I know you’re scared, but I am too, all right?”</p><p>“Of course...it must be terrifying, especially knowing that Gabriel is <em>here</em>.”</p><p>“Sod Gabriel.”</p><p>Aziraphale pulled back to look at Crowley, but he pressed his eyes closed and tucked his head against Aziraphale’s chest as if he still could not bear his gaze.</p><p>“Then what <em>are</em> you afraid of?” Aziraphale said, keeping his words gentle, soft.</p><p>“You,” Crowley whispered. Then he gave a cough. “Losing you. Or if... See, look, if I...I go, to warn <em>them</em>. People who’ve never...I mean, some of them, the ones I don’t know, never did anything to me, sure, but none of them are my friends, angel. None of them. And...well, suppose you don’t come. Suppose they lock you in, or, or you change your mind. Maybe...maybe Gabriel wins you over. Or the Metatron. And if I’d just...just stayed until you...”</p><p>“Oh, but Crowley, that would never—”</p><p>“But what if it did? And then I—I—Aziraphale...”</p><p>“No. My dearest, I couldn’t change my mind about you. I <em>know</em> you. There’s nothing to <em>change</em> there. I love you. Terribly. If I didn’t come, it would be because I couldn’t. But I’d find a way out. Perhaps, we should come up with a backup plan. A way to find each other, if something falls through?”</p><p>“Maybe. It’s a big world,” Crowley said. “You wouldn’t be stuck with me, just because you came with me.”</p><p>“So you’ve said,” Aziraphale said, remembering the night before, drifting off to sleep with those words hanging whispered in his ear. He lifted a hand to Crowley’s head, brushing the errant strands of hair off his face, cupping his sweet, sharp face in his hand until Crowley looked up at him, yellow, slitted eyes sad and strong. Aziraphale traced the outline of one eye, of the delicate skin stretched beneath over fine bones. “I’m not afraid of that, you know. Being stuck with you.”</p><p>“You’re not,” Crowley said. “Not stuck.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be either,” Aziraphale said. “If we were to...go off somewhere and later you decided—”</p><p>“I wouldn’t. Never.”</p><p>“Even so.”</p><p>Crowley shifted, then his lips were on Aziraphale’s jaw.</p><p>“Neither would I,” Aziraphale choked out. “Can you trust me?”</p><p>Crowley nodded, already moving lower, slotting his face between Aziraphale’s chin and shoulder, letting his tongue dart out and press against his neck, then lower, tugging at the neck of his habit to kiss along his collarbones. Aziraphale shifted, wrapping an arm under him, and hefting Crowley so he lay with his chest on top of Aziraphale’s as his kisses grew more heated, though still reverent. Aziraphale burned with a sudden, desperate need to feel close to Crowley, to hold on to him even when he was gone. Crowley moved so that he was fully astride Aziraphale, pushing his slim form between his thighs as Aziraphale slipped his hand beneath the unbelted, billowing habit, pushing it up to cup his buttocks. Crowley thrust against him, slow and deliberate, kissing his neck, and Aziraphale forgot everything except the dull ache in his chest, the roar of flames through his body. Beneath Crowley’s careful thrusts, Aziraphale felt his hips began to buck. His eyes closed and he groaned, unable to resist the image that forced its way into his mind.</p><p>“Would you…?” he said, choking out the words.</p><p>“Anything, angel.”</p><p>“Will you...I want to have you inside me.”</p><p>Crowley stilled, just for a moment, then Aziraphale felt his breath against his face. He opened his eyes and saw Crowley’s face slack with desire and surprise.</p><p>“Yeah...OK. Fingers, like you did with me yesterday. Or…”</p><p>Aziraphale thrust up against his hardness as if in answer.</p><p>“Just <em>you</em>. Will you? Will you show me?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley breathed.</p><p>His hands moved over his knees, up his thighs, their touch gentle, soft, questing. He lifted the habit further, baring Aziraphale’s thighs. Crowley paused.</p><p>“Is it all right?” Aziraphale asked, looking down at him. Crowley smiled, cocking his head as he undid the tie of Aziraphale’s belt, locking eyes with him. Aziraphale reached out and threaded a hand in his hair, only because he could. Crowley’s smile deepened, and Aziraphale touched the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes.</p><p>“I want to feel you. Take this off?”</p><p>Aziraphale sat forward and pulled his habit up and over his head. Being naked with Crowley felt normal now, even if he pleasure was undimmed. And this time, the hum of expectation set him alight. Crowley crawled forward between his legs, and knelt there, raising his arms to pull off his own habit, then he leaned forward, kissing Aziraphale’s lips, the center of his chest, his belly, his skin hot and electric against Aziraphale’s, sending flares shooting through him at every touch. He moved carefully, deliberately, as if it was a promise of what was to come, and as he slipped his mouth over the head of Aziraphale’s cock, he watched Aziraphale, paused and pulled away only to lean in and kiss the soft skin around his balls, holding his thighs apart even as his body shook, his muscles contracting in pleasure at the sensation of that soft, careful mouth, the pressure practiced and perfect. He could feel himself leaking, but Crowley didn’t touch his cock again.</p><p>One finger moved lower, brushing against his entrance and he shuddered.</p><p>Crowley stilled.</p><p>“Are you still all right?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. Another kiss fell on the inside of his thigh and he bucked up against air, the friction of Crowley’s hair and face against the sensitive skin sending another pulse through his cock.</p><p>“Going to use my mouth first, is that all right?”</p><p>“What?” Aziraphale’s eyes flew open, and he saw Crowley there, between his legs, his hand still stroking against him, his face, searching Aziraphale’s, as if Aziraphale might tell him no, he really didn’t think so after all. But Crowley’s mouth, hot and wet, on him <em>there</em>...he gave a little moan at the thought.</p><p>“Angel? Yes? No?”</p><p>“Oh, Crowley. <em>Please</em>.”</p><p>“Right, yeah,” Crowley said, and he closed his eyes and leaned in.</p><p>Aziraphale tensed at the first touch, the wet press of his tongue, the heat of it. For a moment, he worried if this was really all right, if he could really want this, could really have it. But Crowley didn’t stop, and the pleasure swamped him, drowning out his worries, sweeping away all his thoughts. When Crowley’s tongue breached him, he gasped with pleasure. His body felt heavy, melted. He felt hardly aware of what was happening at all when Crowley, stopped and pulled away.</p><p>“What…?” he said, opening his eyes, reaching for him.</p><p>“It’s all right, just…” Crowley raised the bottle of oil, looked at him as he poured it on his hands and Aziraphale squirmed with anticipation, watching as Crowley wrapped a hand around his own cock and stroked, slicking himself.</p><p>Aziraphale let out a strangled moan as his own cock pulsed and he reached down and wrapped a hand around himself, holding tight at the base. Crowley grinned and came back to the bed, and oil, warmed in Crowley’s hands, was being rubbed into him, against his skin, his thighs drawn apart.</p><p>“Angel? My hands. Going to—”</p><p>“Yes. <em>Please</em>, Crowley. I want this. I want your fingers and then I want...I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>The breach of fingers felt different to the tip of Crowley’s tongue, Aziraphale felt tight around him, felt himself tense, and breathed in and out to make himself relax. He felt full at just one, and then...he didn’t.</p><p>“Wait,” Crowley said. “OK?”</p><p>Aziraphale wiggled, feeling as if he would burst with it. When Crowley added a third finger he gasped and panted, then stilled Crowley with a hand to his shoulder, shaking his head back and forth so it thrashed. He knew he must look a sight, but he didn’t care.</p><p>“No, Crowley, come now. I think I’m quite ready, don’t you?”</p><p>Crowley squeezed his eyes closed, but he nodded. “Right, yeah, you…” then he was kissing Aziraphale’s stomach, then trailing one hand over him. He slid his fingers out, and slotted their hips together. Aziraphale gasped and held onto his hips, feeling Crowley’s oiled cock sliding over his skin, hot and slick as he thrust up against it.</p><p>“Wait,” Crowley said again.</p><p>“Then would you kindly get on with it?”</p><p>Crowley laughed, pulled back, and wrapped a hand around his own cock, nudging himself against Aziraphale, breaching slowly. Aziraphale threw his head back, remembering not to tense. Crowley’s girth wasn’t hard to accommodate after all of his diligence, but his length... Aziraphale’s hips twitched, but Crowley held him, said <em>wait</em> again, and he tried to, letting Crowley move slowly, push into him bit by bit, feeling the stretch of him until something changed, caught, and his hips moved again, desperate for that hitch again. Crowley grinned at him and waited for Aziraphale to smile back before he began to thrust, slowly at first, just a little, then harder, moving further with each stroke. Aziraphale moved with him, letting out breathy gasps that seemed to spur Crowley on.</p><p>“Good,” he said. “That’s good, angel.”</p><p>Sweat had broken out along Crowley’s hairline, and the hair there had stuck to his face a little, the ends of it swung out over Aziraphale’s chest. He hadn’t realized he was holding Crowley, holding him with his whole body, his legs wrapped around him, arms over his back, and of course, Crowley was inside him, held there too. His face now, had slackened, nearly contorted with pleasure, and Aziraphale thrilled to see him so lost.</p><p>When Crowley reached for his cock, Aziraphale almost felt disappointed, wanted to come the way he’d seen Crowley come, without touching his cock, but then Aziraphale was thrusting up against his hand, and Crowley’s cock hit that spot inside of him that felt so good. Crowley had squeezed his eyes closed, his rhythm gone erratic. At Aziraphale’s touch, his hand fell away, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself moving, making Crowley hit that spot again and again and then there was wet heat, and jagged, golden light, and breaths, loud and mingled. A low moan, the press of skin stilling against skin, wet and soft and hair in Aziraphale’s face, and arms around his body, lips dry and silky against his chest. Aziraphale held on hard.</p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley said.</p><p>“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. He felt soft-edged, happy. Crowley was still inside of him, and he did not particularly want him to leave, though the sensation grew less comfortable each second. “Thank you. I...hope it was...”</p><p>“You were so good,” Crowley said. “So fucking perfect.”</p><p>He pulled out carefully and kissed Aziraphale’s belly and thighs as he wiped him clean before seeing to himself. Then they lay on the bed, wrapped together. After a while, Crowley got up and took his blanket from the floor to put over them. Aziraphale followed him with his eyes, saw the half-eaten bun and the cup of tea, mostly full, still sitting on the floor beside the bed.</p><p>“You didn’t eat,” Aziraphale said, finally.</p><p>“I love you,” Crowley said, too seriously. He pulled Aziraphale to him and kissed his lips, studying his face as if trying to memorize it. Aziraphale felt cold inside as he realized that it might be exactly that.</p><p>“I love you, too, Crowley. Always.”</p><p>“Always,” Crowley repeated. “I should...should go then.”</p><p>“What, now?”</p><p>“No! No, no. Tomorrow. Maybe.”</p><p>Aziraphale grimaced. His skin seemed to yearn for Crowley’s, to take comfort from the warm press of their bodies together, but his thoughts swirled: Crowley going away, Gabriel and his horrible plan, <em>leaving</em> the church for a future of uncertainty, even with Crowley. It was all too much to think of now.</p><p>“Crowley—”</p><p>“It’s OK,” Crowley said. He smiled, a gentle, warm thing that soothed Aziraphale. “It’ll just be a few days, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale said, his chest blooming warm as he found the ends of Crowley’s hair and wrapped his fingers in it. “Oh, yes.”</p><p>“You know where the Alley is? You could...could find it again.’</p><p>“Yes.” Aziraphale had located the bookshop on his first try, after all, and he remembered that the Alley was only a street over.</p><p>“There’s a bakery there,” Crowley said. “There’s a...a door in the basement.”</p><p>“I think I walked past it,” Aziraphale said. “I remember smelling the bread and sweets.”</p><p>“Meet me there,” Crowley said. “Next week. Wednesday. That should be...enough time, right?”</p><p>Aziraphale considered. The Metatron was due to arrive on Monday, with the rest of the Angels who were usually at Tadfield’s cathedral, and some of the other Angels who attended the Metatron in the City, and there would be a parade, a special Mass. Beyond that, he didn’t know what was happening besides Gabriel’s special policy announcements. It would have to be enough, he decided. After all, Gabriel had planned to enact things next week, once he had the Metatron’s endorsement. Wednesday, he thought with a shudder, might be too late.</p><p>“Tuesday,” he said.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“I don’t want to risk waiting,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll try to talk with him Monday night, then if it doesn’t work, I can try again the next day. But if that doesn’t happen, I don’t know if…if we should wait any longer. Gabriel did seem eager.” He bit his lip, but Crowley just swallowed, looked away for a moment before speaking, a tentative, hopeful smile edging onto his face.</p><p>“I’ve got a friend who has a little cottage. Right outside of Dover. By the cliffs—have you heard of them? I’ll see if we could stay there until we figure out what else we want. So Tuesday evening. I’ll get you some brioche, and we’ll go to the train station, yeah? Easy to get a ferry from the City.”</p><p>Aziraphale did not know much about traveling, so he nodded, his mind seizing on the one detail he did understand.</p><p>“Brioche? Oh, Crowley, that’s really not necessary.”</p><p>“Who said anything about necessary? Let me take care of you, angel. Let me show you how good it can be.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt that his chest would explode. He kissed Crowley again, hard, and felt his slender arms digging into him, almost so tight he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care. He was starting to believe that perhaps, for the first time in his life, everything really would be all right.</p>
<hr/><p>He slept lightly, as a general rule. That night more so than usual, with the knowledge of Gabriel somewhere near, and Crowley leaving just the next day. He didn’t stir at first, when Crowley woke him, moving around quietly, the sound of his skin dragging against something besides the habit. Aziraphale sat up and squinted at him in the lantern light from outside.</p><p>“Crowley—”</p><p>Crowley drew in a sharp breath, then sighed.</p><p>“Angel,” he said, sounding almost relieved.</p><p>“What are you—?”</p><p>He turned, fumbling for a match to light the candle by the bed. He held it up to see Crowley, standing in his leather trousers, his hair braided over one shoulder, the torn lace peignoir he’d been wearing when he’d arrived tied at his waist, his body visible beneath the sheer fabric. He stared at Aziraphale, looking nervous. Aziraphale felt a cold weight land in his chest. Crowley looked like a stranger, and he...</p><p>“You...you were going to leave? Without—”</p><p>“No,” Crowley said. “No. Just…didn’t want to wake you. Yet.”</p><p>He hesitated a moment, then sat down on the bed and took Aziraphale’s hand. “I am going,” he said. “I think...better while it’s still dark. Not so much going on.”</p><p>“The Guardians may be about. Do be careful, dear.”</p><p>“What, the four of them that came back? I think I can escape notice. I had someone show me, see, the best way out of the churchyard if you don’t want to be seen.” He smiled sadly, but then looked away when Aziraphale returned it.</p><p>“So…” Aziraphale said. “I suppose I’ll see you Tuesday.”</p><p>Crowley bit his lower lip, pulling it in so he looked almost angry. “Come with me,” he said.</p><p>“Crowley, we talked about this. I have to stay and—”</p><p>“They won’t listen to you, angel. You know they won’t. You have to know.”</p><p>“So you would just let them—”</p><p>“You and I could stop in, warn everyone and be out of Tadfield by tonight. Come on…”</p><p>“Crowley, no. I can’t. Please. If I can stop this…”</p><p>“You can’t, angel. I don’t know why you think—how you can...you’re <em>so</em> clever. How can anyone so clever be so stupid?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s mouth fell open, and he pulled his hand back.</p><p>“<em>Well</em>,” he began.</p><p>“No, no. Look, you know what I meant. You know…” Crowley stood, now, grasping at his hair. He looked desperate. “Tell me you know?”</p><p>“Crowley…”</p><p>“I love you. I’ll always love you, you know? Whatever you decide. And if...if you’re not there on Tuesday, well. I’ll still think about you. Still call you angel. Never forget you. Never...just don’t think you owe me anything. All right? Whatever happens. I—you’ll be my angel. Just...yeah. It’s OK, yeah?”</p><p>“Crowley, I will <em>see you Tuesday</em>,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crowley shivered and wrenched open the door.</p><p>Aziraphale stood up.</p><p>“Wait,” he said. Crowley froze, then, as if on second thought, closed the door as Aziraphale bent over and rummaged through his trunk for an old sweater Gabriel had given him. “Here. You’ll be cold.”</p><p>Crowley’s face scrunched up, and he pulled Aziraphale against him in something like a hug except that Aziraphale’s arms were wedged between them, still clutching the sweater. When he let go, he took the sweater and pulled it on, then grabbed Aziraphale again and kissed him, hard and deep. His face shone with tears.</p><p>“Tuesday at the bakery,” Aziraphale said. He looked up at Crowley through his eyelashes, trying to make him laugh. “Have the brioche ready for me when I get there so we don’t have to wait.”</p><p>“Bastard,” Crowley whispered, and he did smile. But his eyes still had that sad, haunted look. He pulled the door closed behind him, and Aziraphale waited a few moments before leaving too. He didn’t follow Crowley, but went up to the belltower, where he could watch as Crowley emerged silently and made his way across the churchyard in the low light of dawn. Finally, he disappeared into the grove of apple trees and Aziraphale exhaled. <em>Tuesday</em>, he thought, and for just a moment, he was able to quell his sadness and his nerves enough to feel the blossoming of hope.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: doubting a victim of attempted sexual coercion; racism/xenophobia; discussions of genocide; accusations of racism; rimming; anal fingering; anal sex.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and RainingPrince for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Interlude 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabriel receives some new information that alters his plans...just a little.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: derogatory language towards sex workers.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Gabriel looked up at the sound of a knock on the door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A moment,” he said to Sandalphon, who was sitting across his desk from him. “Come in.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The door opened, and a Principality stepped inside.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes?” Sandalphon said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel looked at him in surprise. The Principality nodded at Gabriel, but addressed Sandalphon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You said to let you both know, sir. The Demon has left the church. He was seen in the village during Vespers.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel clenched his fist on the desk, wanting to bang it there, but not to be seen to lose control over this, not in front of a lower-ranked Angel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Seen?” Sandalphon repeated. “But not apprehended?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“There was only one Guardian on patrol, sir, and a number of Demons about. We couldn’t apprehend them all.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Very well, Nanael,” Sandalphon said. The Principality nodded, but he seemed to want to say something else. “You can go now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you think he really managed to stay in sanctuary that long?” Nanael said. “A Demon? What in the world could he have gotten up to in a church for a month?”</em>
</p><p><em>“A month?” Gabriel said, his muscles tightening as he thought of Aziraphale. What could a Demon have gotten up to, indeed? He </em>had<em> wondered. If he’d been in the church any amount of time at all, Aziraphale was bound to have spotted him. But he’d seemed so...so ineffectual and awkward, as he always was, when Gabriel had confronted him. Nothing new. Nothing different. He’d convinced himself Aziraphale wouldn’t have had the gall to disobey everything he’d been taught to approach a Demon, even one like Crowley, a tempter, whose temptations were, he knew, quite effective. He’d convinced himself that Crowley, notoriously selective, who’d turned down even Gabriel, wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with someone like Aziraphale, who had no status, no money, and certainly no personal charms to speak of.</em></p><p>
  <em>Well. He’d thought too highly of them both. Which was interesting to him, since he didn’t think highly of them at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Principality nodded.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Nanael, you may go now,” Sandalphon said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel waved a hand at the Principality. “Close the door behind you,” he said, already focused on the pugilistic face of his colleague.</em>
</p><p><em>“A </em>month<em>?” Gabriel repeated. “The Demon was in here for a month. And you </em>knew<em>? When we left for the Metatron, he was already here? Heck, by that timeline, he was here a week before that even? And the whole time, you didn’t think to mention that to me?”</em></p><p><em>“I didn’t want to upset you,” Sandalphon said. “I...know how much that Demon in particular upsets you. And he </em>had<em> claimed sanctuary, and in the presence of Miss Device, no less. At the risk of jeopardizing our status, there really wasn’t anything we could do but wait him out. I didn’t really think it would take so long.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“But...well. If he’s been here a month, did you think about the implications of that?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sandalphon didn’t even have the Grace to pretend to understand. He looked at Gabriel now with naked confusion. Gabriel sighed, frustrated. He should have known he’d have to spell it out for him.</em>
</p><p><em>“Aziraphale? He’s been here the whole time with that...whore? Tempting him? He </em>must<em> have seen him. They </em>must<em> have...met at least. And after that shameful display in the square, which I would think you’d remember, you must see that...there’s, well, some </em>interest<em> there on Aziraphale’s part. I never would have expected...</em>Crowley <em>to...but, well, perhaps he felt he owed him. And a better man than Aziraphale might find that particular Demon...hard to resist.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Gabriel did not imagine that the silence dragged on too long, that perhaps he’d said something too revealing. When Sandalphon’s lip began to curl, Gabriel allowed his jaw to jut forward, his eyes to narrow subtly. It was not difficult when he imagined the Demon allowing Aziraphale’s touch though he had recoiled from Gabriel’s. When he imagined him tempting the one person he had managed to keep pure in action if not in thought, the one person he had been able to monitor and raise in accordance with the strictures he saw fit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I didn’t think of it. Of Aziraphale.” Sandalphon said, finally. “But, well, yes. You make an excellent point, as usual.”</em>
</p><p><em>Gabriel refrained from mocking him, from reminding him that as head of Lower Tadfield’s Law Enforcement, he had hardly been appointed for his ability to </em>think<em>. In fact, Gabriel thought, he could hardly be trusted to enforce the law at all, sluggish as he was regarding change. Which was why he’d had to turn to...other agents. Sandalphon knew nothing about that, as yet.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Lock him in,” he said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aziraphale? Into his room?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This time, Sandalphon’s confusion was understandable. Gabriel generally did not involve the other Archangels in his dealings with Aziraphale. Only Michael had occasionally inserted herself, interfering when she felt Gabriel’s approach was ineffective. And of course there had been that whole debacle with Raphael. But bringing him in had been her idea, too, now that he thought of it. Her idea to train him for a career, and they all saw how that had gone. No, this plan, Gabriel’s plan, was for the best. With this new wrinkle, he would just need to start it sooner than he’d expected. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, he thought. It was all in service of the good.</em>
</p><p><em>“No...not his room. Lock the whole </em>tower<em>,” Gabriel said. “Seal it off from the church. But first...I think I’ll pay him a visit. Wait for me outside.” Gabriel waved a hand in the direction of the hallway. Sandalphon raised his eyebrows, but stood and left, shutting the door behind him. </em></p><p><em>The Demon </em>would<em> bend to his will. And Aziraphale, well, Gabriel could see no further use for him, though he would have to go carefully on that front.</em></p><p>
  <em>He picked up his telephone, dialed carefully, slowly, waiting for the dial to reset with every number. Rushing it would only mean he’d have to start over.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hello?” said a low, male voice at the other end of the line.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes. Sable, please.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Speaking.”</em>
</p><p><em>“Ah, yes. This is the Archangel Gabriel. I</em> do<em> have that job for you. And the rest of your...cohort. But earlier than I said. Be in Lower Tadfield, at the cathedral. Tonight.”</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and ScrapBramble (Nymphalis_antiopa) for the beta read!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale and Crowley's plan goes awry as Gabriel sets his in motion.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please note the story tags. Chapter-specific warning appear in more detail in the end note. As always, if you have questions about any of the warnings, please feel free to message me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale felt lethargic from his lack of sleep, and inclined to indulge it to avoid unpleasant thoughts. He stayed in the tower, leaning against the cool wall and dozing, until Terce, when he rang the bell and finally went back to his room. Crowley’s torn peignoir lay on the bed, but otherwise there was nothing left of him, no sign that he’d ever been there. Aziraphale grasped the peignoir and pressed his face to it. He wondered if Crowley would wear things like this when they were out in the world together. He thought of it: Crowley as he’d first seen him, his fingernails gold, his trousers hugging the curve of every muscle, the shape of his cock visible beneath them. He knew that body now, and the idea of it made him smile, almost made him wish, but for the wonder it had inspired, that he could reach back through time and reassure himself, a month ago, that it would all work out.</p><p>But it hadn’t yet. He swallowed. The homilies. He still had to be seen to write them. If he upset Gabriel too badly, he could end up locked in his bedroom again, and that would be a disaster, not just for him, not even just for Crowley, but for all the Demons and perhaps for everyone in Lower Tadfield.</p><p>He lay on his bed, running his fingers over the lace and surveying his book collection. There was nothing in his collection that was likely to be helpful. He would have to go to the library, but he felt tired and achy at the thought of reading the dull books he’d have to turn to. Worse still, he felt ill at the thought of creating anything that would even <em>seem</em> to justify what Gabriel was planning. How could Aziraphale have thought...how could he have<em> cared</em>, for so long, what Gabriel thought? How could he have ever believed in Gabriel’s goodness, when it seemed so obvious now that he’d never truly cared for Aziraphale, had never really had God’s love in his heart?</p><p>Aziraphale nearly drifted off to sleep again with his hand wrapped in Crowley’s lace, but suddenly there came a sharp, staccato knocking at the door, loud and insistent. Gabriel’s knock. Aziraphale sat up and managed to shove the peignoir beneath his pillow before the door opened. Gabriel rarely waited to be asked to enter. Now, as he stepped into the room, he peered around, as if hoping to find something out of place, to catch Aziraphale in some wrongdoing.</p><p>“Why aren’t you working on the homilies?” he said.</p><p>“Gabriel...in good conscience—”</p><p>“<em>I</em> am your conscience,” Gabriel said. “You listen to me. <em>I’ll</em> tell you what’s right. And wrong.”</p><p>He continued to look around the room. Aziraphale prayed his eyes might not light on the Bibles, that he might not notice anything amiss there. He never had yet. He was sure Crowley had scrubbed himself from the room. He’d always been so neat, so clean and careful. Aside from the Bibles and any traces Crowley, there was nothing else he <em>could</em> find. But Gabriel seemed to bore of his task and fixed his gaze on Aziraphale.</p><p>“I’ve heard some disturbing news,” he said, a dry smile playing about his lips.. “That Demon. Was here. For a full month. And you...why didn’t you tell me that, Aziraphale? When I <em>asked</em> you? Why didn’t you mention even <em>seeing</em> him? Is there something you don’t want me to know? About you and the Demon?”</p><p>Aziraphale felt as if his mouth had been stuffed full with cotton. His face grew so hot he knew it was giving him away. Even so, he schooled it blank. Even though it was already too late, he tried.</p><p>“I—no. We never...that is—”</p><p>“Save it, sunshine,” Gabriel snapped, the smile vanishing from his face in an instant. “If you’re going to lie, at least do it effectively. Nanael reports that he left this morning. And <em>I</em> happen to know that he <em>didn’t</em> go out through the nave. <em>Or</em> through the back exit onto the courtyard. So where <em>did</em> he leave from, then? There are only so many exits from the church. I bet you know all of them.”</p><p>“Perhaps...the kitchens...or...”</p><p>“Or the <em>belltower</em>,” Gabriel spat. There was a long silence. When Aziraphale raised his eyes, he found Gabriel staring at him, shaking his head slowly in disgust, and he couldn’t help the wave of shame that rolled over him, couldn’t help wondering what Gabriel would think if he knew everything they’d done together. “Well, I don’t suppose I have to tell you what he is, then. You know what, sunshine? I should have you arrested.”</p><p>“Arrested? He—he was in sanctuary, Gabriel, I didn’t—what is it?— ‘harbor a known criminal.’”</p><p>“Soliciting whores is a crime, Aziraphale. Regardless of where you do it.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. Was it? He’d never been given to believe that it was—he’d only ever heard of people being arrested for...well, for <em>selling</em>, rather than buying. Though that made very little sense, really. And anyway it was completely beside the point because he <em>hadn’t</em>...</p><p>“I didn’t—”</p><p>Gabriel frowned. There was a silence. Then Gabriel’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “Even if you didn’t pay him in <em>money</em>,” he added.</p><p>“I didn’t <em>pay</em> him at all,” Aziraphale said. “It wasn’t...transactional.”</p><p>“Oh?” Gabriel leaned in. “Is <em>that</em> what he said? For God’s sake, Aziraphale, please don’t tell me you imagine that...the two of you were in love?”</p><p>Aziraphale felt sick. He was suddenly very aware of the room around him. The way he must look, sitting here on the bed in his habit and sandals, with Gabriel towering over him. It was important that he focus on that, and not on the burning inside his face, the smarting of his eyes, the prickle of sweat beneath his arms. He <em>knew</em> better. Even if Gabriel made him feel that he didn’t. So he didn’t move. He couldn’t make this better; there was nothing he could say to Gabriel that would improve this situation. He needed to focus on getting out of this without being locked into his room.</p><p>“That’s right. No one could love you. At least you do have that much sense. Even if you are...foolish. Soft. Pathetic. Your ignorance and the transparency of your unnatural desires allowed him to use you for free meals and a place to sleep. To use this church. Now he’s gone and you’ll never see him again.”</p><p>Aziraphale stayed silent, even though his mind screamed in protest. Even though the mere sound of the words made him want to fall to the floor in despair.</p><p>“Apologize, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said. “For the shame you have brought on me. On this church.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. The words came out sounding stilted and wooden. “Perhaps...if I am such a disgrace, I should leave the church.”</p><p>“Where would you go? Who would have you? Not the Demon. He’d never own you as so much as a client out there.”</p><p>Aziraphale bit his lip. Gabriel leaned in, putting his face close to Aziraphale’s.</p><p>“Did you...love <em>him</em>? Did you think you could protect him? <em>Help</em> him. Keep him safe from the big, bad <em>Angels</em> who wanted to lock him up for the good of this country?”</p><p>Aziraphale tried not to move, but Gabriel was staring at him, wound tight like a spring as he waited for an answer. He shivered and found himself nodding. Gabriel recoiled with a loud sigh.</p><p>“Fine. You know what? I’m tired of attempting to protect you. You ungrateful wretch. Yeah, you know what? Try it, sunshine. Leave. Go to him and see what happens. He’ll laugh at you, they all will, believing the things a Demon whore whispers in your ear while his hand is still on your cock.” Gabriel grinned as if at some joke. But when he spoke again, his words were cold and venomous. “You’re a traitor and a fool. A naive, disgusting little fool.”</p><p>Aziraphale seemed to see the things around him very clearly. He focused on the moulding by the door, a sick throb settling in his chest, and a blankness in his mind. He realized his whole body was shaking, his jaw clenched tight, and when he looked up at Gabriel now, the Archangel seemed to relax. His shoulders settled and his smile broadened, though his eyes still glittered, and he drew himself up and away from Aziraphale, adjusting the folds of his dove gray cassock.</p><p>“Of course, that’s if you can even get there in time. Because I’m not going to wait for homilies that will never come. So I won’t be waiting for Michael and the Metatron and the rest of Sandalphon’s Guardians to come in on Monday. This happens <em>now</em>. Tomorrow we’ll start our purge. And by the start of next week—by the time <em>they</em> get here, Lower Tadfield will already be free of Demons. <em>Then</em>, if you’re still here, I’ll figure out what to do with <em>you</em>. Repent for your sin, and perhaps I’ll go a bit easier on you.”</p><p>“But isn’t that...I...how can I repent for <em>love</em>?”</p><p>Gabriel jerked forward, hand already extended, and Aziraphale braced himself, but Gabriel caught himself at the last moment, and pulled back, his chin jutting out as if proud of his restraint. Aziraphale gave an involuntary sigh of relief, but suddenly, Gabriel swallowed and shook his head, then slung his hand forward again, so that the back of it collided with Aziraphale’s face, hard. Aziraphale cried out and fell sideways, sliding off the bed.</p><p>His face throbbed, and he heard, rather than saw Gabriel stride to the door and slam it behind him. Through the buzzing in his skull, Aziraphale blinked away shocked tears and waited for the click of the key in the lock. But it didn’t come.</p>
<hr/><p>He slipped into a fitful sleep there on the floor, resting the burning side of his face against the cool stone. After what must have been a few hours, he sat up to tug the blanket and pillow from the bed, but he found that he didn’t want to lie on the mattress; he wanted to lie here on the floor where Crowley had lain those first nights. He wanted to feel the cold of it pressing into him, holding him up. He wanted to be uncomfortable so he wouldn’t forget, even for a moment.</p><p>When he finally woke for good, stomach rumbling from lack of food—he hadn’t eaten all day—he didn’t know what time it was, though it was already dark. He’d missed ringing the bell at Vespers, he realized. And no one had rung them in his place or he would have woken. He got to his feet and tugged at his habit; he pressed his fingers against his face and felt a small cut there. He thought of Gabriel, the calm smile at his show of distress, the sound it had made, reverberating inside his head when his hand had struck Aziraphale’s face. He wore a ring. It must have been what made the cut.</p><p>He had to go. Had to go now, had to make up his mind how to do this, and simply do it. There was no time for indecision. He tried his door and found it unlocked. <em>Good, all right. There was that, at least.</em> Perhaps he might get some food, something quick he could eat while he packed a bag, then slip away.</p><p>He checked the watch face in his pocket. It was after three in the morning. No one would be about. He would have to evade any Guardians who might be out on the grounds, but there couldn’t be many of them—even with Sandalphon back, the majority of the host would still be at the convocation, surely. He knew where to go, what to do.</p><p>But the door to the main part of the church wouldn’t open. He tried it again, thinking perhaps it was stuck before he realized that it was locked. He was barred from entering it. From the library, and food, and...he swallowed. Then something else occurred to him and he ran down the winding stairs to the door at the base, that opened out onto the churchyard. He tugged at the handle, and though it rattled, he found that it, too, was locked.</p><p>He decided then, not sooner, oddly enough, that once he left, he would never come back to this church. Gabriel had always made him feel so unwanted that he hadn’t imagined it could be better anywhere else, that anyone could really want him. He’d always thought that it would be safer here, where at least he knew no one would hurt him. But Crowley had made him see that not everyone saw him the way Gabriel did, and he thought as he made his way back up the stairs, of Tracy, and Shadwell, and Raphael, and Newt, and Miss Device, and the way none of them—not one, had ever recoiled from him, or even treated him with disdain. He stripped off his habit and flung it to the floor, buttoned himself into the old blue shirt and brown trousers, tugged on the cardigan that fit him best. Besides hand-me-down and outdated habits, he didn’t have many other clothes, just another couple of old sweaters and shirts, a pair of ill-fitting trousers, which he slipped into his satchel along with his favorite of the bibles. He changed his sandals for a pair of worn brogues and, leaving his discarded things where they’d fallen, he pulled the door open and walked out. He would solve this, because he had to. And Crowley was counting on him.</p><p>As he stood at the base of the tower, he reflected. There were two possibilities: He could try to pick the lock leading into the body of the church, then walk through the nave and out, through the courtyard. But that way was risky, and the lock-picking Shadwell had taught him didn’t always work—he wasn’t very good at it, and some locks, like the one on his bedroom, simply didn’t work that way. He’d never even tried this one; it had never occurred to him that this door would ever be locked. The other option, leaving through the door directly to the outside, would lead him to a deserted part of the grounds—the way Crowley had left. He could simply edge along the perimeter, into the garden and through the graveyard and the gap in the fence, the way he’d gone before. But that lock—it seemed like instead of the door itself actually being locked, it had been chained and locked from outside somehow, doubtlessly to prevent him from doing exactly that. Now he pushed at it again, and it opened a little, not enough to let him out, or even to reach his hand through, but enough for him to feel the cool night air, to see a sliver of lantern light. <em>Perhaps</em>—he pushed again, then stood back and braced himself before rushing at the door. Three hard pushes and he was through, the clatter of a chain falling to the ground confirming his suspicions as he stepped out into the night. He hesitated a moment, looking around, but seeing nothing, no one. He pushed the door closed again, wound the chain loosely over the handle in case someone gave it a cursory glance. Then he turned, bent over and picked up his satchel, and slipped behind the hedge.</p><p>Aziraphale walked for a long time. The bakery where he was supposed to meet Crowley on Tuesday was surely not open yet, and he knew no other way of finding him. Tadfield was quiet at night, but not as quiet as he’d expected. He supposed he’d thought that things more or less shut down after midnight or so, as they always had in the cathedral, but there were occasional lights on inside of houses, odd bursts of laughter from side streets.</p><p>He didn’t stop moving, walking faster and faster, even when he saw a park with benches, even when he found himself coming up on the Alley from a different direction, and smelled the scent of baking yeast and sugar that hung in the air there, even though the street was dark and silent.</p><p>How was this happening? All of his life, he had been quiet, obedient. Had tried to do what was expected of him, until...well, until he’d seen Crowley. Gabriel had called Crowley a tempter, and when he thought of it from that perspective, it did make sense. Except...except that it wasn’t really what had happened at all. There had been something in <em>Aziraphale </em>desperate to leave all of the <em>trying</em> behind—all of the expectations, and the feeling, though he hadn’t acknowledged it as such until tonight, of being trapped, of being <em>stuck</em> somewhere where he couldn’t grow, couldn’t change or even <em>learn</em> the things he’d always been most curious to know. So when Crowley had needed help, he’d <em>wanted </em>to be the one to give it. When Crowley had held him and spoken kindly to him, he’d <em>wanted</em> to believe that it could be what it seemed, that it could be as good as it felt. And when he’d realized—not through experience, but through reading both bibles and the novels Gabriel knew nothing about—that Crowley loved him, he’d wanted to <em>let</em> him. He’d known that much even before he knew that he loved Crowley too.</p><p>And he’d realized, slowly, that Gabriel <em>didn’t</em> love him. He always spoke of protecting—Tadfield, the church, even Aziraphale. But when he took action, it always had the same form: blame, punishment, anger, and now...all this talk of killing. Never once had he seen Gabriel act with true kindness. Never once had he seen him offer nurturing, or understanding, or even the kind of cold balance and justice Michael had sometimes shown.</p><p>But now, it felt like something else still had shaken loose inside of Aziraphale, He knew that the anger he felt was in danger of turning to something else. Because he didn’t love Gabriel either. Whatever he’d told himself his whole life—it had only ever been fear. With a bit of gratitude mixed in, perhaps, but now he wondered if some of that might not have been misplaced, borne out of longing for someone to love. He’d heard of orphans, after all, and not just in books—orphans who had been adopted and raised in families where they were <em>loved</em>, not just clothed and fed and tolerated. And now he thought about it, no one but Gabriel had ever told him there was anything about him that made him unlovable. Maybe Crowley and Tracy and Raphael and Shadwell and Miss Device and Newt...maybe they weren’t all misguided exceptions to the rule. Maybe they were the rule, and Gabriel was the one who was something else. Maybe...maybe <em>Gabriel</em> was wrong. He felt rather as if he’d been knocked in the chest with something heavy. It hurt to realize he’d misjudged them—kind people who saw him with clear eyes and didn’t hate the sight. Hadn’t he done them a disservice to value Gabriel’s opinion over theirs?</p><p>He brushed at his eyes—he hadn’t realized he’d been crying, but now he sniffled, wiping at his face, and wincing as he tried to avoid rubbing against the cut on his face. He came to a stop outside the bookshop. Staring up at the storefront felt unaccountably soothing, even dark and deserted as it was in the early morning. Beyond, in the opposite direction from the way he’d approached, he could see the first glow of dawn beginning, illuminating two figures walking hand in hand. He recognized Miss Device first, her skirts far longer than was fashionable and as distinctive as ever.</p><p>She raised a hand in greeting and he hesitated, used to hiding. Finally he waved back, wondering if it would be ruder for him to turn and walk away, or to stand here and waste their time when he hadn’t intended to speak with them at all. They drew closer and looked at him expectantly.</p><p>“Good morning,” Newt said.</p><p>“Hello, there!” Aziraphale tried for cheer, but it didn’t seem to have landed. Anathema peered at him, frowning.</p><p>“Are you all right?” she said.</p><p>“Did you...need something?” Newt asked.</p><p>Aziraphale adjusted his satchel, which seemed to draw their attention to it.</p><p>“Could you remind me—?” Newt started.</p><p>“He’s <em>Ezra</em>, Newt,” Anathema said. Then she turned to Aziraphale again. “Are you going somewhere?”</p><p>“I…” he hesitated. Some part of him wanted to tell them what Gabriel was planning, but the people of Lower Tadfield <em>liked</em> Gabriel. What if they supported the plan? He didn’t really know them very well, after all. Miss Device was eccentric, to be sure, but had always been very devout. “I’ve left the church,” he said, finally. “I...just need. The bakery.”</p><p>“Oh, well, there’s one just by the Alley,” Newt began, frowning.</p><p>“Yes, I—what time, do you know what time it opens?”</p><p>Anathema cocked her head to the side as if considering him. “It opens at seven. But we’re just going to go in here and have tea.”</p><p>She gestured to the bookshop. “Join us?”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated. He slid his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and drew out the watch face. Nearly twenty of. He nodded, gave another nervous glance up and down the street for Guardians, and seeing none, he followed them inside.</p><p>Anathema and Newt led him not into the bookshop proper, but up a small flight of stairs at the back. A door at the top opened onto a small residence, and Aziraphale and Anathema settled around a round, white table while Newt put the kettle on and rummaged around in his cabinets for teacups and biscuits.</p><p>“You said you left the church,” Anathema prompted.</p><p>“Yes,” Newt muttered, extracting a half-eaten package of biscuits with an awkward flourish. He held it up to Anathema as if to say, <em>see?</em> but then he looked at Aziraphale and said, “What does that mean? Tadfield <em>is</em> the church, as they say.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it, Newt,” Anathema said.</p><p>Newt’s face went red.</p><p>“It’s just...you do seem as if something’s wrong,” Anathema said. “And I know that sometimes the Angels...well, look—”</p><p>“Anathema—?” Newt broke in, and he looked worried--no, afraid. Anathema paused, then set her jaw and nodded.</p><p>“Ezra...are you an Angel?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, as I’ve been reminded constantly my whole life.”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with not being an Angel,” Newt tried. “We’re not Angels.”</p><p>“So, you’re lay,” Anathema said.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, Aziraphale,” Gabriel had said once, when Raphael had wanted to take him into the village. “Whatever would they make of you? Not an Angel, not laity. Not even a Demon. Do you understand...you are very fortunate to have found a home here. Very fortunate indeed.”</em>
</p><p>He nearly spoke, nearly said, <em>I’m not anything really. </em>But then he remembered. They couldn’t tell. Or rather, there was nothing <em>to </em>tell. No glaring flaw at the core of him, shining out through his form to horrify anyone who looked. He was just a man. And he wanted no ties to the church, not anymore.</p><p><em>I’m looking at you, angel. What is it I’m meant to see?</em> He’d told Crowley once, what he expected him to see. He could tell them too. But this time he’d tell them what he <em>wanted</em> to be.</p><p>“I...suppose I am,” Aziraphale said. “Yes. I think...laity. Is the right word.”</p><p>“I saw you in a habit,” Anathema explained. “So I—”</p><p>“I used to live there,” Aziraphale said. “I—I’m not really called Ezra. I’m Aziraphale. Gabriel—” but Anathema did not seem to need further explanation.</p><p>Anathema’s mouth fell open. “Oh, right,” she said faintly. “Oh, God. How could I have not put it together?”</p><p>“I was busy the day of the festival, but people said that Gabriel’s ward got out of the church and caused some sort of a disturbance in the village,” Newt said. “Something to do with that Demon they arrested and the snake that got loose. So that was you?”</p><p>Aziraphale flinched, his hand flying to his mouth as he felt the humiliation thread through him. How could he have thought... “I should—I should go. I’m ever so sorry to have imposed—”</p><p>“No, no,” Newt said. “Please don’t. It’s just...well, we’d been led to believe—”</p><p>“Never mind,” Anathema said to Newt. Her voice was firm. “You <em>know</em> I don’t think the policies are fair at all. I only wanted to make certain that you...well, that <em>you</em> agreed before I bared both our souls to Gabriel’s agent. But I think it’s pretty well established now that he’s not.” She smiled at Aziraphale, and he smiled too.</p><p>“Listen,” she said. “Do you need our help?”</p><p>“Gabriel is pretty powerful,” Newt said. “Could be very hard to get away from him if he doesn’t want you to go.”</p><p>“I doubt he’ll mind much now,” Aziraphale said, and he was surprised at the sadness in his voice.</p><p>“Do you want to tell us what happened?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, just—is it really true that he didn’t let you out? Not ever?” Newt broke in.</p><p>Aziraphale forced his jaw closed, and nodded. He found it hard to look at Newt, at the sympathetic horror he found in the other man’s face.</p><p>“He’s planning...oh, it’s terrible. He’s planning to find the Demons and...and…”</p><p>
  <em>Hearing that, coming from you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is that what you think?</em>
</p><p>He swallowed. He had no idea how to say this, how to make it clear that he wasn’t sanctioning it, just by uttering the words.</p><p>“Gabriel wants to kill them,” he said finally. “All of them. I need to find them first so I can warn them. So I can stop it.”</p><p>There was the silence he’d feared, and then Newt said, “Ezra...Aziraphale...you can’t just walk into the Demons’ hideout. Even if you knew where it was.”</p><p>“<em>Do </em>you know where it is?” Anathema said.</p><p>“They’d probably kill <em>you</em>.” Newt said.</p><p>“Yeah, they would,” Anathema added.</p><p>Aziraphale winced. “I...I think it may be a chance I’ll have to take. I do have...a...a friend. If he could, could vouch for me, then perhaps they won’t jump to any conclusions about my intentions.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure it’s intentions that matter here,” Anathema muttered. “I mean, it’s <em>their </em>space. You know? They don’t like people from outside coming in.”</p><p>“But I’m trying to save them!”</p><p>“They won’t know that. And if you die, well, then, no one left to tell them anything,” Newt said.</p><p>“Very well,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll just have to be careful then.”</p><p>“Look,” Anathema said. She let out a long, slow breath. “None of this, what we’re saying here, goes anywhere, yes? Except for warning the Demons, obviously?”</p><p>Aziraphale and Newt both nodded.</p><p>“That bakery you’re looking for. Do you know <em>why</em> you’re looking for it? What will you do when you get there?”</p><p>If it had been Tuesday, he was meant to ask for Crowley at the counter. But it <em>wasn’t</em> Tuesday. Everything was wrong. Suppose he asked the wrong person? Suppose they didn’t know Crowley? Or Crowley was somewhere else? Aziraphale hesitated. Anathema took his silence for the answer it was.</p><p>“Right, well. When you arrive, you need to ask to speak to Thaddeus Dowling, the baker’s husband. He’s a kind of...an ambassador of sorts. He’s laity, but the Demons trust him. Tell him who you need to see, your friend, and he can find them for you. He can get in safely. Maybe he can even tell you who you’d need to talk to to get the Demons to listen.”</p><p>“How do <em>you</em> know—?” Newt began, his voice rising.</p><p>“Oh, hush,” Anathema said. “I’m a Device.”</p><p>She and Newt grinned at each other as if they’d forgotten Aziraphale was there.</p>
<hr/><p>In the end, Newt opened his shop early for an excuse to hang around at the storefront without looking too suspicious, and Aziraphale and Anathema walked together to the bakery. There were more people about the village already, and Aziraphale felt uneasy. All it would take was for one Angel who recognized him to be on patrol. But Anathema rested a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Nearly there,” she reminded him, and he nodded. They walked inside, where it appeared that they were the only customers.</p><p>There was a man at the counter, with a large, bushy mustache, and a small child in short trousers, playing with a ball of dough on a little side table in the corner.</p><p>“That’s Thaddeus and his son Warlock,” said Anathema, and she raised a hand in greeting and inclined her head in Aziraphale’s direction. The man nodded. Aziraphale realized he was clenching his jaw and forced himself to relax. He kept his hands clasped in front of him and approached the counter.</p><p>“Ah, hello,” he began. “I’m Aziraphale.”</p><p>Thaddeus frowned in recognition of the name of Gabriel’s ward. He shot Anathema an accusing glare.</p><p>“It’s OK,” she said. “Just listen.”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated. He didn’t know how much he should say. He settled on, “I understand you’re in connection with the Demons...that you might know Crowley?”</p><p>“What about it?” Thaddeus said. His voice was loud, sharp like a bark.</p><p>“I’d like...that is, I’m afraid I really do need to speak with him. It’s really extremely urgent.”</p><p>The door to the shop opened, and Aziraphale froze, a terrible sense of foreboding overcoming him. But when he turned, he saw only a man in a long, black coat, handsome and slim and bearded. He smiled, and for a second, his teeth looked too sharp. But the illusion was gone in an instant. Aziraphale was too nervous to return the smile, but when he turned back around, Thaddeus was frowning and nodding.</p><p>“Wait just a minute,” he said. He looked at the new arrival and spoke in a friendly, booming voice, “Well, hello, there! What can I get you?”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll have a look,” the man said, waving his hand at the display case of treats Aziraphale had somehow not even noticed. Now his mouth watered, nervous as he was. Crowley had promised him brioche. The thought warmed him. If they could just get through this, he could be sitting on a train beside Crowley, eating a lovely, sweet snack in just a few hours. He tried not to think about what would happen during those hours—or after they had arrived in Dover. There was enough uncertainty in this moment that he didn’t need to start trying to predict the future as well.</p><p>Thaddeus nodded at the man and disappeared into the back of the shop, presumably the kitchen. A moment later, a short, attractive woman emerged, looking harried. She had flour on her apron and in her hair. She looked around at everyone with very bright eyes, but didn’t say anything. The thin man continued looking in the case. Aziraphale didn’t blame him—everything looked scrumptious. He was sure that this was the bakery that had created the delightful pastries Crowley had given him that day on the belltower.</p><p>After several long minutes, Thaddeus reemerged, his eyes sweeping over the scene.</p><p>“Harriet will help you once you’ve decided,” Thaddeus said to the man before he turned his attention back to Aziraphale. “Come with me. Just you.”</p><p>Aziraphale glanced back at Anathema, but she just shook her head.</p><p>“Good luck,” she said, heading for the exit. “It’s best if I don’t come. Just one outsider is bad enough.”</p><p>Thaddeus swung open the hinged door cut into the side of the counter and Aziraphale stepped through to follow him into the kitchen. He led Aziraphale through the hot, flour-dusted room to another wooden door around a corner at the back. After a few seconds, a knock came, low and quick, and Thaddeus jerked forward and whipped the door open. Two men came through: one tall with short, dark hair, dressed in boots and dark clothing, and Crowley, who wore his hair loose over his shoulders and a pair of soft-looking, tight trousers with Aziraphale’s baggy jumper. Aziraphale’s chest clenched at the sight of him.</p><p>“Angel!” he said, surging forward, and Aziraphale noted that the other man had to let go of Crowley’s wrist before he pushed forward and wrapped his arms around him, crushing their bodies together. Thaddeus made a point of looking away, but the other man just watched them, looking amused.</p><p>“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale said. He couldn’t seem to let go, to pull away enough to speak, even though Thaddeus and the other man were both still there.</p><p>“I thought we said Tuesday, angel. You all right?”</p><p>“It’s happening too soon,” Aziraphale said. “Gabriel said <em>tomorrow</em>, Crowley. You have to tell everyone. You have to get them out of Tadfield, out of Lower Tadfield at least.”</p><p>“What?” Crowley said. He pulled back and looked up at the dark-haired man for just a moment before tracing his eyes over Aziraphale’s face, and Aziraphale saw the moment he noticed the cut, he reached up, then hesitated and stopped himself. He glanced over at the dark-haired man.</p><p>“I’ll get the Council,” he said, turning back to the door. “Bring him down in five minutes.”</p><p>Crowley nodded, not bothering to look back at him.</p><p>“He hurt you,” Crowley said, and now his fingers did land on Aziraphale’s face, soft, careful. “I’m so sorry, angel. Look, Luca will want you to talk to the Council. But we’ve already gotten a lot of people out. Thanks to you.” Crowley leaned forward and kissed him, a soft, chaste press of lips.</p><p>Thaddeus coughed and Aziraphale took a step back. But then there were footsteps coming from the main shop, the clang of the bell as if the door were being opened again and again. Thaddeus whirled around and pushed back through into the storefront and Crowley peered around Aziraphale, inquisitive as ever.</p><p>Then there came a crash, and a scream, a child crying, and Crowley leapt forward, toward the sound, and Aziraphale ran after him, back out into the main room.</p><p>The other customer stood there, his face now partly obscured by something he’d tied across his mouth and nose. His body looked oddly relaxed, considering that the shop was slowly filling with some kind of noxious smoke. The case of sweets had been broken open, and the small child who had been playing with his doll now stood above the supine figure of the woman who had come out from the kitchen, now cradled by Thaddeus, and Crowley whirled, running at the customer even as the little boy ran toward his parents. Crowley didn’t hesitate to pick him up. He whispered something to the child, who clearly knew and trusted him, then turned to Aziraphale.</p><p>“Tell Luca there’s no time,” he said, coughing. “Go now!”</p><p>Aziraphale ran, thinking only to go quickly, complete this errand so he could return to Crowley. What was happening? Was this...Gabriel’s doing? Already? He pressed his lips together, jerked open the heavy door in the kitchen.</p><p>From beneath, he could hear voices near the stair, hushed, suspicious.</p><p>“Luca,” Aziraphale called. The voices stilled, intensified.</p><p>“Quiet!” Said a single, strong voice. “Go on then, Crowley’s little Angel.”</p><p>There were snickers at that. Aziraphale ignored this.</p><p>“Luca, this shop is under attack. There’s no time.”</p><p>A series of curses, a scream, a bitter laugh, a rough, “Well, all right then. We’ll go.”</p><p>“Do you need—”</p><p>“Just get away from the entrance. Close it.”</p><p>Aziraphale did, the door falling heavily closed as he let go of it and moved back through the kitchen as quickly as he could. There was a cry, a crash, a wail that must have been the child—then silence. Aziraphale’s shoes, he noticed as he ran, were now covered with flour.</p><p>He didn’t make it back through the door before it swung open, and there was Gabriel, the bottom half of his face, too, covered with a dark cloth, but Aziraphale would recognize him anywhere. Through a window onto the street, Aziraphale could see smoke edging up from behind the shop now, from the Alley, and the few people about at this hour—laity, and perhaps a few fortunate Demons who could blend in—running past, frantic. There were two people in odd, unfamiliar uniforms—one red, one white and smudged—shouting at them, “Stand back, move back.”</p><p>“Good work, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, reaching for him, his hand landing briefly on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You did exactly what I wanted.”</p><p>He turned as he spoke, and Aziraphale saw through the door onto the main room that Crowley was struggling against the customer in black as clouds of gas now completely suffused the main room, already creeping their way into the kitchen. Aziraphale coughed and saw the child, Warlock, lying on the ground next to his mother, whimpering and hardly moving. Aziraphale started toward them instinctively, but then—</p><p>“Angel!” Crowley shouted. His voice rasped, and he seemed to struggle to breathe.</p><p>Gabriel rounded on Aziraphale. “He led me right to you,” he said to Crowley. His hand closed over Aziraphale’s arm, and he jerked him through to the main room of the bakery. At that moment, Crowley broke free of the thin man holding him with a sharp jab from one of his elbows to the man’s stomach.</p><p>“He’d...never...” Crowley sputtered, through the smoke.</p><p>“Think about it, Demon. I’ve been looking for you for years. You tell this one where to find you all and, poof, here I am. Put it together: He <em>led me to you</em>. He’s <em>mine</em>. Just like you will be.”</p><p>“Bloody...hell…” Crowley said. Aziraphale could see his eyes through the haze, wide and doubting. “He…you...”</p><p>“Crowley, no, I—”</p><p>“Shut your <em>mouth</em>, Aziraphale,” Gabriel cut in.</p><p>The thin man reached out for Crowley again, his hands snaking up for his throat and Aziraphale pushed Gabriel away, not thinking, as he shot forward to shove the man away from Crowley, who was already listing to one side, gasping for air. But it was Gabriel who caught Crowley, who stopped him from falling. Aziraphale watched in horror as he smiled down at Crowley, who even now struggled against him.</p><p>“Don’t hurt this one,” Gabriel said to the man. He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. “He’s a Demon, yes. But he’s mine.”</p><p>Something hot and sharp pushed through Aziraphale, down and out through his fingers, and he shouted as he ran at Gabriel, as his hand flew through the air and connected with his skin with a thwack. The blow he landed was heavy, hard. Gabriel fell, and unfortunately, so did Crowley, but Crowley rose first, just to hands and knees, looking at Aziraphale with wide eyes, doubled over as he was with coughing. Gabriel lay on the floor, breathing slowly, eyes closed in pain. <em>Oh, no. Oh, what had he done?</em> He’d never hurt anyone deliberately. He’d...always known that he could be a danger somehow; Gabriel had told him over and over...but he’d told himself it didn’t have to be true, that he could be kind, be gentle, if it was what he wanted…and he’d always wanted it. Lately, he had started to believe it wasn’t true, that he was who he’d wanted to be. That Gabriel was wrong. But now…</p><p>His breath came in short pants. The air was hard to take in, and his heart was pounding.</p><p>But even now, he didn’t regret it, because Crowley was moving. Crowley was getting to his feet, standing, Crowley was safe…</p><p>But the way he was looking at Aziraphale...as if...as if…</p><p>Aziraphale gasped, pulling in more of the noxious air. He put his hand over his face and started toward Crowley slowly.</p><p>“Cro—” his voice caught in his throat.</p><p>“Az—Aziraph—” Crowley said, wheezing. He fell back down to his knees. There was pleading in his face. Fear, as he looked at Aziraphale. Fear? “Azir...love...thought…”</p><p>
  <em>Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear.</em>
</p><p>He bent down, forcing in gulp after gulp of the foul air through his mouth. He wanted to lift Crowley into his arms, to run out and away with him, to get him to safety, to get him to stop looking at Aziraphale like that. But Gabriel moved faster, unaffected by the noxious air as he was. He kicked Crowley away from Aziraphale, sending him sprawling. Before Aziraphale could react, someone grabbed him from behind, their arms closing around his stomach, restraining his arms—more than one someone, because he couldn’t shake them off, couldn’t move his legs even—</p><p>Gabriel’s hands were on Crowley’s throat. Everything went still.</p><p>“Azira...please...” a horrible gasping, a horrible gurgle.</p><p>Aziraphale felt the smoke like fire in his lungs, the rage like fire in his blood. He couldn’t see anything except the hands on his arms, Gabriel’s hands on Crowley, Crowley struggling. Aziraphale shouted wordlessly, pulling as hard as he could at the sight of Crowley struggling, stilling. His eyes closing. <em>No, no, no.</em></p><p>He screamed, pulling as hard as he could. But the hold was too strong. It was too late. It was too late. Crowley was still. He wasn’t moving. His chest wasn’t rising and falling. Gabriel stood, surveying Aziraphale coldly.</p><p>“You see?” he said. “Chalky, Scarlett, Now.”</p><p>Someone let go of Aziraphale, freeing his legs, and a woman stepped forward, something glinting in her hand. There was a roar of new flame as they dragged Aziraphale from the shop. A blow to his stomach, hard, taking the last of his struggling breaths from him. Not enough to put him out, but, enough that he didn’t know...could only think <em>no no no, Crowley no Crowley no.</em> could only gasp in the cold morning air, the smoke now only the smoke of fire, clouding his vision. There was a sharp twinge in his arm. Then nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: physical abuse; gaslighting; blood (a small cut); noxious fumes/difficulty breathing; choking; <b>major character death</b> (but see tags and remember that Aziraphale may not always be the most reliable source of information); implied violence against a child; punching; physical restraint; implied homophobia; sexual shaming; derogatory language against sex workers; sexual entitlement, including unwanted (but nonsexual) touching. This chapter ends on a low note/cliffhanger that is resolved in the next chapter.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and ScrapBramble (Nymphalis_antiopa) for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale recovers and tries to figure out how to move on in the wake of a heartening, but disturbing discovery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please note the additional tags, which are relevant to this portion of the story. Additional warnings are at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Aziraphale opened his eyes, he was in his tower room. He felt hollow, empty, as his eyes traced over the familiar surroundings, the habit he’d worn earlier, discarded on the floor, the rows of his bibles. Then he remembered, and sat up, tugging at the door, pulling hard, desperately, over and over until it all welled up in him and washed over. <em>No.</em> It didn’t matter anymore. He’d failed. He’d failed miserably. Crowley was dead and he was back here, where he’d sworn he’d never return. There was nothing for it anymore. Nothing mattered. He’d been foolish to think he could leave, could have a whole life, could have Crowley. And now, because he’d been such an idiot, Crowley was dead. <em>Crowley</em>, the only person who’d ever thought he was worth something. Who’d ever been willing to take a risk for him. Kind, brave, beautiful Crowley.</p><p>Oh, Aziraphale should have just left with him when he asked. Or better, he should have...have made him leave. Should never have lain beside him and asked for that first kiss, should never have promised him anything at all. As if he were someone who could promise.</p><p>Aziraphale tried to roll over, to bury his face against the pillow, to see if perhaps, it still smelled of Crowley at least, but it hurt to move—his chest pulled when he tried to breathe, and his stomach and arm felt sore. Finally, he sat up, looking down at the floor, at the spot of blood where he’d lain when Gabriel had hit him, scanning unconsciously, then frantically for the lace peignoir Crowley had discarded. It was gone. Where had it gone? Had Gabriel taken it?</p><p>It was like it had never happened, like Crowley had never been there, and it would have been so much better if he had not.</p><p>He stood, his legs wobbling under him, his body heavy with grief and shame. His hands reached out for the door and he watched them tug at it, twisting the knob. But it was locked, of course. And he found that he could hardly care. His mouth was dry, his stomach rumbled, but he felt tired, an aching hollowness in his chest. His clothes smelled of the awful fumes that had filled the bakery. He thought of the woman lying on the floor, when her husband had left her to help him. That little boy running to Crowley, trusting Crowley to help him. And he hadn’t been able to, because of <em>Aziraphale</em>.</p><p>He thought of anything he could to keep his mind from returning to the image of Gabriel, with his hands at Crowley’s throat, and Crowley, fighting for breath, gasping out his last words, begging Aziraphale to explain, begging Aziraphale to let him know that at least it hadn’t all been for nothing.</p><p>
  <em>...thought...love.</em>
</p><p>He had died believing Aziraphale hadn’t loved him. That he had led Gabriel to him.</p><p>But he’d been right on that, hadn’t he? Aziraphale had been too foolish to see it, but Gabriel had had him followed, had been watching him the whole time.</p><p>He fell back against the wall and sank to his feet, sliding down it. What did <em>anything</em> matter anymore? Gabriel might as well leave him here. It would be just as well if he forgot Aziraphale, if everyone did, and he starved to death. It was no more than he deserved. No more than he wanted, even. Not now. He’d known what he was, what he would do to someone who showed him any kindness. He’d tried to tell Crowley, but he couldn’t see it, and Aziraphale had gotten swept up in it, and it had cost Crowley his life. He wouldn’t try again. He wouldn’t let anyone close. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to. He curled his knees up to his chest and rested his head there. He sat very still. Tears, though, took a long time to come.</p><p>By sunset, he’d cried into his pillow, had shoved himself beneath the blankets Crowley had slept in, hunting for even so much as a long red hair, trying not to to remember how it felt to wind it around his fingers, to brush it away from Crowley’s face and lean in to touch the sharp bones of his face and kiss his soft, willing mouth. But he’d found nothing. Not a hair, not a forgotten bracelet, not a rip of lace. Because Crowley had protected him. Had done much better than Aziraphale had at protecting Crowley. By now, his crying had turned to low keening, and he alternated between rocking himself back and forth and holding himself unnaturally still so as not to move and jolt himself back into awareness of his own existence.</p><p>There had been noise earlier, and now even before the bells rang again, there was more from outside, as if crowds were approaching. He looked out his window, but couldn’t see much from looking over the rear of the churchyard.</p><p>Then suddenly he remembered. The Metatron. So then, it was already Monday evening? Then his procession would have happened, and people would be turning up for his first service. He’d been unconscious then, for nearly a full day. But that meant...if he could get out at all, perhaps there was still a reason to. Perhaps some of the Demons could still be spared. Perhaps Gabriel could be stopped from doing any more harm, and wasn’t that worth trying? Wasn’t that, after all, what Crowley had died for?</p><p>The thought of rising was still too much to do more than entertain, and he still felt tired. When he rested his hands on his aching abdomen, he felt the bruise from where he’d been hit in the stomach, the pinch of the pain in his arm. He lay still, and something thrummed beneath his skin even through the torpor and the grief. A kind of fire that blazed hotter when he thought of Gabriel.</p><p><em>It’s not safe for you here, either,</em> Crowley had said. It wasn’t. It never had been. It never would be.</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t know what would happen to him. But he couldn’t stay here under Gabriel’s thumb. Even if he left to die, he would still leave. And he<em> would</em> try to stop Gabriel, if there was any way to do it without dragging anyone else down with him.</p><p>The fire bloomed all through him, and with it, hunger, thirst. His mouth was dry, his stomach grumbling, and he was suddenly awake, his breaths coming deeper, his body panged with discomfort, tugging at him to move, to act, to <em>do</em>. It was alive, even if losing Crowley made him feel that he could not go on. He still had his life. So he would use it, make it worth something.</p><p>He got to his feet and lit the candle by his bed, then the lamp on his desk. He took out paper, a pen. If nothing else, it would help him to think. Perhaps he could write out what to say to the Metatron. Perhaps, if he could not get to the man himself, he could find a way to get him a message.</p>
<hr/><p>But he’d barely set pen to paper when there was a knock at his door, followed by the sound of a key in the lock. He stood, the chair scraping against the floor and nearly turning over, but it was only Tracy. He let out a sigh of relief. and let her come to him, pull him into her arms. She had never hugged him before, but it didn’t feel strange, didn’t feel wrong. Aziraphale held on without making excuses, without apologizing.</p><p>“I heard about what happened in the Alley. I’ve come to tell you...I can’t...oh, pet. What’s happened to you?”</p><p>“I was there,” he said, and found his voice more of a croak than anything. “Gabriel...he...oh, <em>Tracy</em>.”</p><p>Tracy pulled back and searched his face. “You were there?”</p><p>“I tried to...to...warn them. He burned that bakery. There was a family in there, a little boy and…” he didn’t say anything else, didn’t want to reveal any more than he had to, not until he knew.</p><p>“Oh, love. Yes, we’ve all heard about the Dowlings. Well. I think they are expected to recover. If that helps at all to know.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. “But the Demons...”</p><p>“Shh…they say that most of them were already gone. And some of the rest still got away. Not many left now in Tadfield to be sure. And I think Gabriel might have let up for now.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. Tracy hesitated, then spoke quietly.</p><p>“Perhaps you know already, but Crowley got—” she began.</p><p>“Tracy, please, I—I know.” Aziraphale did pull away then, did cover his mouth. He could not look at her. “Gabriel...I thought, perhaps, if I could speak with the Metatron, that perhaps he might—oh, I don’t know, make him see reason?”</p><p>He gulped, swallowing down the grief that nudged at him, reminded him that it was too late for him to save anything that had mattered to him, that it was too late for him to have anything he’d ever dared to want.</p><p>“It’ll be all right, love. You need to get away from here. Let me take you to mine. Get you out and settled with something to eat. Best do it now, while they’re all in the service, and...and, did you have a plan? If you were in Tadfield earlier, I bet you didn’t <em>want</em> to come back <em>here</em>?”</p><p>“No, I—I was going to meet Crowley. To warn him about what Gabriel was planning. And... well we were going to leave Tadfield. Together.”</p><p>Tracy’s eyes widened in a flash, and she looked away. “Oh, I didn’t know it was...that the two of you were… Aziraphale, pet. Do you think...would you still want him to come with you?”</p><p>“He’s gone! Gabriel<em> killed </em>him. He— <em>Please</em>, I don’t...I can’t...it was my fault, I—”</p><p>“No. No.” Her hands found his shoulders, and he realized that his own hands were between them, wrapped together, wringing. “Nothing that man does is your fault, do you hear me? You <em>never</em> blame yourself for what he does. But, pet, Crowley’s not...he’s <em>not</em> dead, love. He’s not. Saw him myself, I did. And I can’t say he’s well. But he’s alive, love. He’s alive.”</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head. She had to be mistaken; he couldn’t let himself hope.</p><p>“Where?” he said. “Where did you see—?”</p><p>“Ah, well, that’s what I meant.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned, not understanding, not sure if there was sense there that he just couldn’t see.</p><p>Tracy set her jaw. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s try something.”</p><p>She turned and began walking, moving toward the main part of the building, then down a hall. He followed her, feeling caught in her slipstream, his heart pounding. He glanced down as they passed through a little cluster of angels moving toward the balcony of the nave, but none of them looked up at the sight of them.</p><p>Aziraphale could hear the deep, swallowed tones of what must have been the Metatron’s voice, but Tracy walked past the nave and began leading him down the flight of stairs beneath the kitchen. Toward the Archangels’ quarters. Guardians stationed at the ends of the halls looked at them but under Tracy’s unwavering gaze, let them pass. Aziraphale could feel them holding themselves back.</p><p>“Tracy,” he hissed. “I don’t know—”</p><p>“I’m going to show you, love, while he’s out. And he can...you and Crowley...Just promise me you’ll go. Promise me. If you just walk straight out with me. Maybe they won’t notice. Won’t ask. If we do it now.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Promise me you’ll leave. Straight away. You can come home with me if you want. Me and Mr. Shadwell, you know. Both of you.”</p><p>“Tracy, I—you’ll lose your positions, and I—”</p><p>“Pet, look at the state of you. After what he’s done, I can’t stay here. Mr. Shadwell and I—we can’t abide this. And, well, you’ll see. I only hope...”</p><p>Tracy was moving fast, and Aziraphale’s gut curdled when he realized where they were: the Archangels’ residences. Gabriel’s hall. Outside his door, she paused, took out her set of keys, and unlocked his door. Aziraphale’s heart pounded.</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“He’s busy,” she said. “At the service. So, it’s got to be now, love.”</p><p>Aziraphale swallowed and nodded.</p><p>“Now, whatever happens, be understanding with Crowley, all right? Sometimes, people have to make hard choices. You must know that Crowley’s no stranger to that. Try not to hold it against him. It’s nothing to do with you...with how he feels about you.”</p><p>“Tracy—” Aziraphale did not want to hope, but he could not ignore the way his heart caught on every mention of Crowley’s name. She was wrong, she had to be.</p><p>“Shh…promise me.”</p><p>“Of course, yes. I don’t under—”</p><p>“And you’ll leave. With Crowley?” He bit his lip, afraid to agree, to jinx it all in some way. Suppose she was mistaken? But Tracy’s hand was still on the door. And he needed to agree so he could know. What if Crowley was there, on the other side of the door? What if he was there, whole and warm and alive? Why on earth wouldn’t Aziraphale leave with him?</p><p>“I—I’ll leave. We’ll leave. But—”</p><p>“Good.” Tracy pushed open the door, not looking at him. “Come on, then. He...let’s see.”</p><p>The residence wasn’t completely dark; a light shone from one of the interior rooms. Aziraphale had never been past the parlor, but Tracy led him through it to the lighted room, and at its door, he froze. It was a bedroom, with a wardrobe and mirror, a closet, and a bed. And in the bed, a thin figure lay still except for the chest rising and falling, silent but for faint, stuttering gasps as he slept, a figure with bright hair that peeked out above the covers, just enough to shine in the lamplight.</p><p>Aziraphale gasped, his chest twisting with surprise and hope and pain and he ran forward, hands covering his mouth as he moved to the other side of the bed to see that face, and yes, yes, even though he knew already, the sight of that face in sleep lifted him, buoyed him and he nearly fell to his knees with shock and relief.</p><p>“Crowley, Crowley, oh!” Aziraphale knelt beside him, his hands pressing gently to his face. Tears sprang to his eyes.</p><p>Crowley stirred, but didn’t wake, and under Aziraphale’s touch, the blanket slipped from his shoulders, revealing bare skin, and faint, purpling bruises on his neck. Tracy gasped. Aziraphale’s breath caught. <em>Why wasn’t he dressed? Why would Crowley…?</em> Tracy looked away, but Aziraphale scarcely noticed her.</p><p>“Crowley, Crowley, wake up, please, my dear. Please.”</p><p>His eyelashes fluttered, a muscle in his face twitched in Aziraphale’s hand, just above his jaw.</p><p>“Angel?” Crowley rasped. He seemed ill, weak, hardly able to move, but there was a fumbling from beneath the covers, then Crowley’s hand reached up and found Aziraphale’s on his face, sliding it down, holding it. “Angel!” He winced, then coughed. “What...?”</p><p>Aziraphale tried not to focus on his bare chest. He squeezed his hand.</p><p>“Don’t try to speak, dearest.”</p><p>Crowley’s jaw worked, but he said nothing, his eyes trained on Aziraphale’s, something in them apologetic, pleading. Aziraphale tried not to think of what it meant that his chest was bare here in Gabriel’s bed, of what he’d said Gabriel had tried the night he’d found him in the kitchen.</p><p>“Crowley, you’re in <em>Gabriel’s</em> room. My dear, did—”</p><p>“Gabriel’s...yeah, look, you...have to go. Leave me. Leave...the church. Just go. I—I’ll...find you.” His face contorted with pain as he spoke, his chest heaving between each word. Aziraphale hated himself for letting Crowley speak only to refuse him, but how could he agree to something like that?</p><p>“No, I—Crowley, I can’t. I—can’t you get up?”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes closed and a tear slid down his face. “No. Can’t. I’ll be...all right. He brought...doctor.”</p><p>“But he hurt you. Oh, Crowley, I thought—”</p><p>“It’s OK. I promise. I’m not...I can’t really.” Crowley stopped and took two heaving breaths that ended in coughing. “Not now. Just...you...please. Please go. Angel. Don’t want...don’t let him find you here.”</p><p>Crowley went limp, breathing hard.</p><p>Aziraphale bit his lip against a fresh onslaught of tears. But as Crowley’s eyes closed, as his hand went slack in Aziraphale’s, he remembered the regrets he’d had that morning. He should never have tried to claim Crowley. Should never have made him any promises at all. Except perhaps this one: to leave him, to let him go. Crowley hadn’t died, but this was still Aziraphale’s fault. It never would have happened but for him.</p><p>Crowley’s thumb ran over his fingers. His touch felt weak, his skin slightly gray, and when Aziraphale looked back at him again, his eyes were open again, golden and pooled with tears. His fault.</p><p>“Please,” he said. “For me?”</p><p>So Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll...I’ll try,” he said. Crowley seemed to relax then. He closed his eyes and gave a single nod that made him wince. It had probably hurt him. <em>His fault.</em> Aziraphale waited a moment, a selfish moment of not wanting to leave. But Crowley’s eyes stayed closed.</p><p>Aziraphale released his hand.</p>
<hr/><p>Tracy met his gaze as he turned toward the door. Her lips were pressed together, tight, and Tracy stopped them just outside the bedroom and hugged him again.</p><p>He felt stricken and uncertain. Crowley was hurt, sick. Gabriel had hurt him, but...whatever it meant, had saved him, too, had taken him from the building before it had burned. And Crowley had asked Aziraphale to go. He hadn’t wanted his help. <em>Why would he? How could he trust me now?</em></p><p>“I didn’t know he was hurt like that, pet. Oh, I’m ever so sorry.”</p><p>“He was...he didn’t…” Aziraphale didn’t know how to begin, how to speak of it around the hard kernel of shame at his center. “Gabriel…he was wearing—Crowley was wearing a jumper that I...Crowley wouldn’t...want...”</p><p>Tracy nodded. “I know,” she said. “I know, love. As I said, sometimes, people have to make hard choices.”</p><p>“Can’t we...just take him now? Please, I can’t just leave him…it’s my fault. My fault.”</p><p>“No,” Tracy said. “You had nothing to do with it, love.”</p><p>But it wasn’t true. It never would have happened if not for Aziraphale. Crowley wouldn’t have come to the church if Aziraphale hadn’t tried to help him, hadn’t left behind the book he’d won. And he might have left before Gabriel returned if Aziraphale had just been stronger.</p><p>He felt suddenly ill. He swayed, reached out, and braced himself on the wall. Tracy gave a shuddering sigh and reached out to clasp his shoulder.</p><p>“Let’s get you something to eat,” she said. “You’ll come home with me. We’ll see if we can’t come up with a way to get Crowley what he needs. You can hardly go carrying him through the church with Sandalphon’s Guardians and what not everywhere. Let’s get you home.”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just...I can’t leave. Not yet. I—I need to speak with the Metatron.” And Crowley. What would Gabriel do to Crowley? What had Gabriel <em>done </em>to Crowley? Aziraphale attempted to push the thought aside. He needed to think, needed to figure out how to <em>act</em>.</p><p>Tracy hesitated. She looked about to argue, but Aziraphale’s determination must have shown on his face.</p><p>“All right,” she said quietly. “Straight to the kitchens with you then and eat. Oh, I do wish you’d come with me. I don’t know...don’t know as I can stay on here.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt something inside him crumple. Tracy patted his shoulder and said, “I’ll stay on a bit then, love, so as I can look in on you.”</p><p>Aziraphale went to the kitchen and forced down some fruit and bread he found there. His heart ached when he thought of Crowley, lying there in Gabriel’s bed, alone and vulnerable to the man who had already hurt him. But there was nothing he could do. Not like this. Tracy had been right, he couldn’t carry him through the halls for anyone to see, not with all the Angels back. Even if he did somehow manage it, where would he take him? His room wouldn’t be safe anymore. It never really had been, he supposed. And Crowley, well, he wouldn’t want that. <em>Didn’t</em> want that. He’d told Aziraphale to go.</p><p><em>Sometimes people make hard choices</em>. Tracy had said. Had Crowley decided to give Gabriel what he wanted? Had Gabriel forced him into his quarters, or brought him in unconscious? Had he offered him something else in exchange for giving him what he wanted? He thought of that little boy who’d run to Crowley. Tracy had said that the family would recover. Would Crowley have bargained for their lives? And if he left with Aziraphale, even if he wanted to, would that all be forfeit? It couldn’t be worth it, surely.</p><p><em>I really don’t mind it,</em> Crowley had said, when he’d told Aziraphale about his work. It hadn’t upset Aziraphale. He hadn’t been <em>jealous</em>. But this was different. Aziraphale couldn’t <em>stand</em> the thought of Crowley sharing his body with Gabriel, even willingly. And it was little more than coercion, even if Crowley agreed. He found himself torn, hoping for his own sake that Crowley had not agreed, then hoping for Crowley’s sake that he had, that it was what he wanted. Tears sprang to his eyes even as rage boiled in his stomach, making the dry bread taste mealy on his tongue, catch in his throat when he tried to swallow. He drank water from the tap to force it down. He hated Gabriel. He had never hated anything or anyone before. It was a feeling that demanded to be wielded, like a weapon. Aziraphale had no idea what to do with it.</p><p>With a small amount of food on his stomach, he felt his thoughts coming clearer now. If he wanted to find the Metatron, it would probably be well to change into something clean. He thought then of his satchel, which was now missing. Nothing left to wear, then, but his habit, and he knew he could not put on another habit. What time was it? He suddenly, inexplicably felt that he needed to move quickly. He needed to do something that would go against everything he’d been taught about staying out of sight—he would have to go near the nave while the worshippers were still in the church.</p><p>It was a good thing, he thought, as he wiped his face, brushed his hair, that he had so much practice now in doing just that.</p><p>The worshippers would be about to leave. If he were to make his way down to the sanctuary now, he could come in from behind the vestry and perhaps catch the Metatron before he descended from the pulpit. If not, he would be sure to catch him in the vestry. He would have to speak quickly, before Gabriel had him removed, but he thought he could manage. He thought he could enter with the words on his tongue. Just in case, he wrote out what he wanted to say and practiced.</p><p>It felt almost too easy, moving through the space as the crowds dissipated. Gabriel and Michael stood in the center aisle, looking out at the parishioners. No one seemed to notice him as he stood near the front pews, as he turned and made his way carefully through the side entrance to the vestry. It wasn’t even locked.</p><p>Inside, he stood cautiously and looked around. This wasn’t as he’d pictured it. In his mind, the Metatron had already been inside, perhaps removing the outer layer of his vestments, and Aziraphale would have to speak quickly, with Gabriel lunging at him. Instead, the vestry was empty and quiet, almost calm, almost peaceful, but for the sick feeling in Aziraphale’s stomach, the dry feeling in his mouth, and his heart racing, lungs aching in his chest. He could hardly breathe.</p><p>Eventually, of course, the door opened, slowly, and the Metatron pushed in, shutting the door quietly behind himself. He was alone and startled a little when he turned to see Aziraphale there, spine snapping straight where he had begun to relax, apparently believing himself unseen.</p><p>“Oh, hello there,” he said, his eyes traveling over Aziraphale’s dirty lay clothing.</p><p>“Hello,” Aziraphale said. What was he doing? He had a script for this. He’d decided, had practiced. “I’m Aziraphale. I live here. I write homilies for Gabriel.”</p><p>“Do you?” Aziraphale realized he was staring at Gabriel’s desk, and redirected his gaze, forcing himself to make eye contact with the Metatron. The Metatron looked doubtful, as if Aziraphale were a small child, making such a claim. He did not return the eye contact.</p><p>“Yes. And I...I wanted to ask you if you might be able to get him to reconsider a policy.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s not at all my area,” the Metatron said. “Gabriel has control here in Lower—”</p><p>“Yes, but he’s...well, he’s obsessed, I’d say, with the Demons. He doesn’t want them here, and he’s prepared to actually <em>kill</em> them. He actually burned down a bakery to destroy their hideout. Perhaps you’ve heard. Innocent people were—”</p><p>The door opened wider, and Michael and Gabriel filed in. The Metatron looked at them, not bothering to pretend to listen to Aziraphale. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to continue speaking.</p><p>“Hurt,” Aziraphale finished. “People were hurt. And not just Demons.”</p><p>“I’m sure Gabriel’s plan entails enacting whatever criminal penalties for laity harboring dangerous fugitives that he sees fit. Gabriel, Michael, who is this young man with such a strong imagination? And why <em>haven’t</em> any logistics come up in my discussions with Sandalphon?”</p><p>Michael pursed her lips.</p><p>Aziraphale watched Gabriel. Rage flashed across his face, there and gone in an instant. Ice replacing fire. Something niggled at him in the back of his mind. <em>Sandalphon. Sandalphon. But the Guardians, the Principalities...they weren't the ones to attack. </em>Everyone in Tadfield must have known something had happened yesterday. The Metatron was likely included in that number by now, which would explain why he hadn’t seemed surprised.<em> But if Sandalphon and his Angels hadn’t been directly involved, then...what if...what if the Angels didn’t know about Crowley? </em>His stomach dropped. He almost wanted to turn and run now, find Crowley and take him away as he’d wanted to before, as he’d believed was impossible. But he knew it was already too late. It was impossible now, though perhaps it had not been before.</p><p>“Aziraphale is my ward,” Gabriel said. “He’s not of completely sound mind, so please do forgive him for the lies he’s undoubtedly been telling you.”</p><p>“Gabriel—” Michael started.</p><p>“You don’t know him like I do,” Gabriel said. Michael’s mouth closed, her lips drawing in, a reluctant concession to the truth. The Metatron took in her expression before he spoke.</p><p>“I don’t know about lies,” the Metatron said. “Or this young man’s capabilities, but I’ve made it clear to him that you have my full confidence. Perhaps next time, you’ll secure the vestry to prevent this sort of intrusion? Where <em>is</em> Sandalphon?”</p><p>“Of course,” Gabriel said. He rested a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his fingers digging in too hard. Aziraphale fought the urge to throw him off. “I’ll find him at once. Aziraphale. Come with me.”</p><p>He allowed Gabriel to direct him out, ignoring the burning, churning sensation that filled his chest and stomach. He had to focus.</p><p>“How <em>dare</em> you?” Gabriel began. “I should have finished you off when I did the Demon.”</p><p>There was a moment when Aziraphale felt only surprise. Then he said, “I know you didn’t. He’s in your <em>bed</em>. Gabriel—what—?”</p><p>Gabriel cast a furtive look around, then grabbed Aziraphale’s collar and jerked him into the small all-purpose lounge behind the vestry. Once there, he threw Aziraphale away from him so that he staggered.</p><p>“That’s what a whore <em>is</em>, Aziraphale,” he snarled. “They sell their <em>love</em> to the highest bidder. And you, unfortunately, no longer have anything to bid.”</p><p>This close, Aziraphale could see the faint bruising on Gabriel’s jaw where he’d struck him, and there was again that feeling of hate, like fire on a blade, it burned even over the shame that he’d <em>hurt</em> someone. He’d hurt <em>Gabriel</em>. Who’d raised him. And he didn’t even regret it. But Gabriel had....he’d hurt Crowley. He’d tried to <em>kill </em>Aziraphale. Even before that, he’d broken his promise not to hit him again. Aziraphale had always thought that that promise had been not to him, but to God Herself. Now, they were here alone, with only God for a witness. With only Michael and the Metatron in the next room, and they didn’t care what Gabriel did. <em>You have my full confidence</em>.</p><p>Oh, how had Aziraphale survived this man for so long? By listening to him? By believing him—believing <em>in</em> him, that he was something special, something touched directly by the hand of God? Something else flooded him then, cold but equally animal, equally galvanizing: fear.</p><p>Instinctively, he moved his body away from Gabriel, toward the door. His mind cleared slightly and Gabriel blinked at him, impassive. Aziraphale chanced another tentative step toward the door, then his pace quickening, he turned and cleared the room, a plan coming to him. Or rather, the absence of a plan taking hold. If the Angels did not know what to look for, then perhaps, even now, he <em>could</em> take Crowley and go. There were exits that wouldn’t be monitored as closely, he was sure, even now. And they’d likely be looking for threats from the <em>outside</em>. Gabriel did not stop him until he reached the door.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said. He turned, feeling more impatient than anything.</p><p>“If you leave this room, you leave this church. You don’t take <em>anything</em>, and you don’t come back.”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated. Anything. Gabriel knew what he was planning. He’d have to be quick.</p><p>Aziraphale turned and stepped through the door.</p><p>“That’s right,” Gabriel said. “He’s mine now.”</p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale started off in the general direction of his tower, thinking to loop back once Gabriel had opted not to follow him to try to return to the Archangels’ quarters and see if he could get back into Gabriel’s. Perhaps he could dress Crowley in a cassock and help him walk out of the church. That might not be so conspicuous as trying to carry him. After that...he didn’t know. Perhaps he could find Tracy. Or...no...he couldn’t involve Miss Device in something like this. He probably couldn’t ask her for anything—she probably assumed he <em>had</em> been working with Gabriel.</p><p>But when he got back, there were Angels standing outside the door to Gabriel’s residence. He darted back around the corner before they could see him. So now there were Guardians protecting Gabriel’s residence? Keeping people out? Or Crowley in? Or were they watching for Aziraphale, word of Gabriel’s directive for him to leave the church already common knowledge? Either way, Aziraphale couldn’t linger here much longer. Whatever their presence there now meant, he’d been too late. He would have to leave the church, leave Crowley here. He drew himself up, trying not to give in to the despair. Trying to stay strong, and think this through.</p><p>But to <em>leave Crowley here</em>? Here, where he’d only ever stayed because Aziraphale wasn’t ready to leave. Because Aziraphale had been too foolish to see the truth. Here. With Gabriel. The whole reason Crowley had wanted them to go in the first place. And who knew what Gabriel would do to him?</p><p>The hope of only moments before seemed now especially cruel. Aziraphale was back where he’d started: He should have listened to Crowley in the first place, but if he hadn’t then, at least he could now. He would leave Crowley here, because he had to. He would put Crowley behind him, because he had to. All of this was proof that Aziraphale had never deserved him anyway.</p><p>Aziraphale started off for the library, moving as quietly as he could in his street shoes, which had a wooden heel that clicked on the stone floors if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t know how to find Tracy, but she would come there eventually, and hardly anyone else ever did. He might be safe for the evening at least. He couldn’t leave Crowley. He hated himself for it, but...there had to be <em>something</em> he just wasn’t thinking of. He was tired, his chest hurt, perhaps if he could just lie down. But as he approached the library, he heard rushing footsteps, heavy with authority. He turned and found himself pushed back against the wall.</p><p>“He’s here,” said the person who’d pushed him, and more footsteps sounded.</p><p>It took Aziraphale a moment to identify her: the Archangel Uriel, who he barely knew. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, only briefly, she turned from where she was looking to lock eyes with him, and slid her hands away, standing back.</p><p>“He’s all yours,” she said. Aziraphale turned his head to see Sandalphon, as Uriel stalked away down the hall.</p><p>Aziraphale had always avoided Sandalphon. As he approached, Aziraphale tried to move away, but Sandalphon pushed him back and, before he could register what was happening, punched him in the stomach, where he’d been hit before, the pain blossoming through his ribs and back where he struck it against the wall.</p><p>He cried out, his arms flying up instinctively.</p><p>“Oh, going to hit me?” Sandalphon snarled. “Gabriel did say you were meant to be some kind of brute. And now getting above yourself, aren’t you? Trying to <em>talk to the Metatron himself</em>?”</p><p>He waited a moment, as if to allow Aziraphale the opportunity to retaliate, then he smirked.</p><p>“More sense than he gives you credit for,” he said, finally. “Turn around.”</p><p>Aziraphale blinked at him.</p><p>“What, are you deaf now, too? Turn <em>around</em>.”</p><p>Aziraphale did, shaking with rage as he felt the shackles circling his wrists, tightening until they dug into his skin. How would he help Crowley, bound like this? And why couldn’t he seem to <em>fight</em>, now that he knew he needed to? But no, it wasn’t that, for once, wasn’t the shame, the fear of what might happen if he lost control, if he <em>didn’t</em> try to be kind, gentle. He would give that up if he had to, if it would help. He knew that now. He’d hit <em>Gabriel</em>. For Crowley. He would do <em>anything</em> for him—if it would help. But fighting Sandalphon wouldn’t help. Would only be likely to get him hurt, or thrown into a jail cell. Or even killed, as Gabriel had hinted. He had no desire to let that happen. Not yet.</p><p>“Where are you taking me?”</p><p>“<em>Out</em>,” Sandalphon said, jerking him down the halls. Aziraphale kept his eyes down as they passed people, Angels and laity lingering after the service, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, the Metatron, all of their gazes following him. He would never, he realized, be able to get the Metatron to listen to him now. He would be lucky if any of the laity looked at him with less than fear or disgust. Perhaps this humiliation was what Gabriel had intended, even more than the other consequences of forcing him to leave.</p><p>Sandalphon did not lead him through the nave, but pushed him down a hall and out a seldom-used side exit. Outside, he pushed him, face first against the stone wall of the church and freed his wrists. “Leave,” Sandalphon said. “We don’t care where you go. But you are no longer welcome here.” His hand dug into Aziraphale’s upper back, holding him in place against the wall. Then, suddenly he let go, and he was gone, the door shut banging behind him. Aziraphale could hear the clank of the teeth of the lock, the slide of the bolt over the door.</p><p>He stood there, in the darkening churchyard, looking around at everything—so familiar and suddenly so hostile. There was nowhere he could go. Nothing he could do.</p><p>Tracy’s words came back to him then:</p><p>
  <em>“You can come home with me if you want. Me and Mr. Shadwell, you know.”</em>
</p><p>But he couldn’t do that to her—to them, to go to their home without Crowley, ashamed at his failure, his betrayal. She’d wanted to help <em>Crowley</em>. Probably, she’d realized already that there was nothing she could do to help <em>him</em>. He would always be the same. He would always be Aziraphale. Always this <em>not-quite</em>. There was no way to fix that. The best he could hope for was to get away from here without ruining anything else for anyone else. But Crowley—</p><p>He leaned against the wall of the church and thought again of him sinking to the ground with Gabriel’s hand at his throat, thought again of him lying there in Gabriel’s bed, so fragile and vulnerable, his neck bruised, his voice rasping from it, at the mercy of the man who’d done this to him. He’d <em>tried</em> to tell Aziraphale, and Aziraphale hadn’t believed him. So Crowley had waited, and told him where to go, and… This was his fault. This was what happened when someone trusted him... This was his fault, and Crowley… oh, God.</p><p><em>I should have walked away,</em> he thought, thinking of Crowley that first day, his wrists chained. <em>Still better off than he is now.</em></p><p>He should walk away now. It didn’t matter where he went. Crowley had only said <em>leave</em>. Gabriel and Sandalphon had said it too. <em>Leave. </em>And yet.</p><p><em>Entreat me not to leave you</em>.</p><p>He couldn’t.</p><p>Aziraphale opened his eyes to the field of tombstones and sank to the ground. Perhaps if he lay here long enough, something would occur to him. And if it did not, then he would die. He didn’t mind the thought. He’d been wrong his whole life, about everything, believing the things that Gabriel said, trusting him for far too long. Aziraphale didn’t know what to believe at all anymore. He couldn’t trust Gabriel, but he didn’t know how to trust himself either. That was one thing Gabriel had been right about. Everything, everyone, was better without him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: references to disturbing events from the last chapter; brief description of injuries from choking; a character is hoarse and has trouble breathing; references to possible sexual coercion; ableism; shoving/punching; derogatory language toward sex workers.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and ScrapBramble (Nymphalis_antiopa) for the beta read.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An unexpected change of circumstances leads to both disaster and hope.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you've been waiting until this mess starts to resolve, that resolution begins in this chapter. It ends on a hopeful note to set us up for the end. There's only one more chapter, and then an epilogue.</p><p>cw in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale had not thought of Shadwell, but it was his familiar brogue that he heard next, his heavy touch, stirring him from his fitful sleep.</p><p>“There ye are, lad.”</p><p>Aziraphale blinked at him.</p><p>“What?” he said, confused and groggy. But he shouldn’t have been surprised, he knew. Shadwell walked these grounds. Nights and mornings. It was nothing unusual, though it had been some time since Aziraphale had encountered him.</p><p>“Come with me, then. The missus about to have a heart attack if ye don’t.”</p><p>Aziraphale did not look up even as Shadwell started down the path, away from him, with heavy, shambling footsteps. He frowned. Should he follow him? Get Shadwell mixed up in all of this, too? Surely he’d done enough.</p><p>The footsteps stopped. Shadwell turned.</p><p>“Well? Am I to tell her ye didn’t care for her health? She’s worrying herself sick. Went and looked for ye in yer tower, she did, came back in a right panic, saying as Gabriel’d kicked ye out.”</p><p>“I don’t...don’t wish to cause trouble,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Mite late for that, I’m afraid.”</p><p>Aziraphale let his eyes roam over Shadwell’s face, seeing the lines there that had accumulated since he’d last seen the man up close. There was a kind of tiredness in his face that Aziraphale understood and hated. Aziraphale looked away.</p><p>“Trouble for you then. And Tracy.” He flickered his gaze back to Shadwell then, and saw comprehension and unexpected sympathy there.</p><p>“Aye, no,” Shadwell said. “It’s not you what caused <em>our</em> trouble. We cannae stay here now. I don’t see as ye could make it any worse. I’ll not leave ye here, so come, now, or I’ll have to fetch my thundergun and <em>make</em> ye move. Not safe here, out in the open. Not after all I’ve heard.”</p><p>Aziraphale stood up then and stepped toward Shadwell. He waited until Aziraphale caught up with him before starting to walk again.</p><p>“What is the trouble, then?”</p><p>“Things as Tracy says Gabriel’s gotten up to what I cannot abide. And this mess with the Demons. Only come to this <em>because</em> of him. Ye cannot kill a whole people. People what haven’t committed no crimes, just because...it’s not right.”</p><p>Aziraphale shivered.</p><p>“When I was a young lad,” Shadwell went on, “It was witches. People who <em>believe</em> different: predict the future, know how to read the earth. Took me a while to see how wrong it was. No excuse for the things I did serving the Witchfinder Army.”</p><p>“Army?” Aziraphale’s voice came out too loud and Shadwell lifted a finger to his lips. Quietly, he unlocked the churchyard gate and held it while Aziraphale stepped through. He locked it behind him and gestured to the little cottage across the street. His and Tracy’s. The gate in front of it was not locked, and Shadwell nodded at him, indicating that he could open it himself. He did, and just as Aziraphale reached the door, Shadwell rested a hand on his back, making him jump a little as he turned.</p><p>Shadwell’s face was drawn as if he was concentrating, deciding something. Finally, he tipped his head to the side and spoke:</p><p>“Disbanded now, it did. Most of them became Angels—Guardians and Principalities—once the gover’ment gave it up with huntin’ witches. Now it’s Demons. People from somewhere else. And that’s all. Most of them don’t even <em>believe</em> any different from what most of Tadfield does. First they can’t hold a job, then they can be arrested just for being here. And now. Just. Well, I was done a long time ago. I was a Sergeant—that’s not but one up from the bottom rank. Could have been an Angel, but not if that’s what it meant. Got myself a lay job and never looked back. Still didn’t see another way, though. Didn’t see how to say no to an Archangel. But this has gone too far. Worst they ever did for the witches was intervention, mandatory reeducation before they sent them back to their families. Never mind if a witch was just as devout as anyone. Usually the families <em>supported </em>it. Thought they were helping. It’s how I met my Tracy. Never <em>killed</em> any. None of us. Misguided, it was, but it was always supposed to be about <em>saving</em>.”</p><p>“Tracy was a witch?”</p><p>Shadwell shook his head. “Still is, lad. Ye don’t <em>stop</em> being a witch. Not really.”</p><p>“You...well, I won’t tell anyone,” Aziraphale said. <em>You can trust me</em>, he’d almost said. But no. He didn’t want to make promises like that, statements about his own goodness and merit.</p><p>Shadwell smiled sadly. “Wouldn’t matter anymore if ye did. Leaving, we are. Now let’s get in here before she’s ready for both our heads on pikes.”</p><p>The weight of the realizations hardly had time to settle on Aziraphale before Tracy was swooping out from somewhere off the narrow entrance hall and, heedless of the soot still on Aziraphale’s clothing, pulling him into an embrace and murmuring, “There you are, love. I heard he’d sent you away. I did worry so.” Something in him curled up at the affection, as if it wanted to hide even from him. Caring for him was never good for anyone. It would be better for Tracy if she did not.</p><p>Shadwell coughed, and Tracy stilled. Experimentally, Aziraphale pulled back slightly, but Tracy did not let go of him.</p><p>“I did know as you were good for something,” she said to Shadwell. He let out a bark of laugh.</p><p>“I told him,” Shadwell said.</p><p>“Told him what? Oh, pet. Let’s get you warm and cleaned up and somewhere safe to sleep. How’s that?”</p><p>Only then did Tracy release him. He nodded and she guided him to a seat at the kitchen table where there was already a mug of tea waiting.</p><p>“Told him,” Shadwell said. “That we’ve had enough.”</p><p>The tea was so hot it stung Aziraphale’s lips. He could not look at either of them. The words hung in the air. <em>Enough</em>. Another reminder of how wrong he’d been all these years. He wasn’t the only one who had sometimes disagreed with Gabriel. He wasn’t the only one now, who...well, who hated him. He set the mug down again without sipping, his hand shaking. He could feel Tracy looking at him.</p><p>“Told him we’re leaving Tadfield.”</p><p><em>Leaving.</em> Like everyone. Better this way, though. He knew now. Look what had happened when Crowley had stayed.</p><p>Aziraphale looked up. He forced a smile. “Where will you go?” he asked. He did not know of any places to go. He’d heard names, of course, but he did not know what was practical, what was feasible. The world outside the church was big; everything seemed far away. He’d thought Crowley would be there, that Crowley would know. He pressed his lips together to stop them quivering.</p><p>“We were thinking of getting a nice little cottage,” Tracy said. “Perhaps a nice village near the sea. We’ve got some money saved. Can afford our own, living in Church property all these years.”</p><p>“Not as if they don’t charge us rent <em>here</em>, woman,” Shadwell muttered.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded without looking up.</p><p>“And how much...is a cottage?” he asked. It was a lovely idea. A cottage. A cozy room overlooking an ocean like the ones he’d read about. Crowley’s hand in his as they looked out at the water. But Crowley wouldn’t be there. Crowley was...no. He trained his eyes on the tea, still steaming. He watched the steam disappear into the air. “Or...or a flat?”</p><p>There was a silence.</p><p>Then Tracy’s hand fell on top of his and he did look up then, only for a moment, to distract himself from the twist in his chest.</p><p>“You’ll come with us,” Tracy said, and Shadwell nodded. She said it as if it were obvious, as if he should have known it was what they’d intended all along.</p><p>Aziraphale’s chest felt too tight to breathe. He leaned forward, trying to steady himself, trying to speak, to say what he needed to say, but he did not know what it was. He could not go with them. Could not let them sacrifice for him, make room and allowances for him and his foibles, his ignorance. They did not know what they were taking on. And more than that, even, there was Crowley, who didn’t want him, perhaps, but who needed <em>someone</em>, for now at least. He tried to force out words, but nothing came. Tracy’s hand landed on his back, and Shadwell muttered something and stood up. He returned to the table with a square glass bottle.</p><p>“You need something stronger, lad?” He did not wait for an answer but poured a glug of it—spirits of some sort—into Aziraphale’s tea.</p><p>“That’s it,” Tracy said. “It’ll be all right.”</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, finally, and then paused again, having managed to say what was important. “I can’t leave him. He’s...it’s my fault. Oh, I know you don’t think so but...I can’t, I can’t...I’m sorry.”</p><p>He sobbed then, ashamed. Crowley had begged him to leave, and still he could not turn away. How would he live with himself if he did? Or perhaps at all. Even now, he did not know what might be happening to Crowley. And he could do <em>nothing</em> to stop it. Just as he had done nothing, ultimately, to stop Gabriel from destroying the Demons’ hideout, from hurting the Dowlings, even their innocent child. Tracy bent down and wrapped her arms around him, and he held on even though he did not deserve this kindness. She said things to him that he did not hear, but when she pushed the mug at him again, he drank.</p><p>He let Tracy show him to a bath, and leave him alone. He undressed, rubbing at the sore spot on his arm, where a tiny red pinprick hinted at an explanation for why he had slept, why there were things he did not remember. He washed himself and dressed in the faded green pajamas that had been folded beside the tub. His head felt fuzzy with fatigue and grief and whiskey. When Tracy showed him to a bed, he slept.</p><p>When he woke, sun streamed in the little window above him, and he could hear voices of people out in the street, and closer, voices of people inside. Tracy and Shadwell. And someone else. He shifted, sat up, a dizziness sending his head swirling. His body ached; he felt heavy. There was the same dull pain at the center of his chest, and a sudden, swooping sick feeling. He turned and found a basin pushed against the wall and felt his stomach heave, emptying its sparse contents into the basin meant for washing, until nothing was left but yellow bile that burned his throat.</p><p>Embarrassed, he took the basin to the open window, dumped it out, and rinsed it with the clean water in the pitcher before he splashed his face and dressed. If someone was out there, it wouldn’t do to emerge in pajamas. Perhaps it wouldn’t do for him to emerge at all.</p><p>He looked toward the window. He could not fit through it, but he could see to the church, the Guardians and Principalities in their brown habits, prowling the churchyard in twos, standing even at the church’s entrance, clubs and ropes handy at their waists.</p><p>For a moment, he thought of burning the whole cathedral to the ground. Perhaps Crowley might escape in the melee. But no. There were other people inside. And with Crowley as weak as he had been? No, no, he couldn’t risk it.</p><p>There was shame at having had the thought of doing something so destructive. And he had to take a moment to dispel it. It would not serve him here; there was no time for shame. Even it was selfish—it would not help him save Crowley, or stop Gabriel.</p><p>He buttoned the shirt and tucked it in, tugged the braces in place and rolled the bottoms of the too-large trousers. He dampened his hair and attempted to smooth it. There was no mirror. This was the best he could do.</p><p>The soft voices from the other room faded, and there were quiet footsteps, the sound of the front door opening. Aziraphale looked out the window again and was startled to see Michael there, going down the path away from the Shadwells’ cottage. She turned as she reached their gate and looked back at the house. Aziraphale drew back, but he wasn’t sure if she’d seen him.</p><p>After a while, there was a soft knock at the door, and when Aziraphale opened it, Tracy stood there.</p><p>“I thought as you might be awake,” she said.</p><p>“What was Michael—?”</p><p>“We handed in our resignation first thing,” Tracy said. “She came to thank us for our service and see if we might stay. And to tell us what to do for transferring the house and what not when we told her we won’t.”</p><p>“Does she know that I—that I’m here?”</p><p>Tracy hesitated. Then, resting a hand on his arm, she said, “I don’t know, love.”</p><p>“And Crowley—? Did you—did you tell her?”</p><p>Tracy closed her eyes, but she nodded. “I did tell her. Said she would look into it, but I don’t put a lot of stock in that. Archangels tend to look the other way when it comes to other Archangels. Now, she’s not the same as Gabriel, but he’s been operating under her all these years, and still he’s the way he is. Getting worse even, maybe. And she’s never stopped him yet.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. He did not trust Michael. But she had never seemed to be someone who lost control. He knew, instinctively, that she would not have approved of Gabriel hitting him, that she would not approve of Gabriel having a Demon in his bed. Even—or perhaps particularly—one who did not wish to be there.</p><p>“Perhaps she’ll get him away from Gabriel at least,” he said. Jail, though... But even jail would be better. There was room for some hope at least, even if it was not the kind he wanted.</p><p>“Perhaps, love,” Tracy said, frowning. “Come out and have a bite to eat with us.”</p>
<hr/><p>Shadwell was finishing what looked like lunch. Was it so late? Aziraphale did not have his pocketwatch to check. Shadwell drained his cup of what looked like an exceptionally milky tea, and nodded at Aziraphale before leaving him alone with Tracy.</p><p>Aziraphale shot another glance out the window, trying to see the position of the sun. He almost thought the Angels outside the church were looking toward the little house. He followed Tracy out of the room and shut the door.</p><p>It was quiet. Too quiet. Aziraphale fancied that Tracy was studying him, seeing him properly, and he couldn’t stand it.</p><p>“He asked me to go with him,” he said. “Before. Before, I mean, any of this started. When Gabriel was still gone. He said I could leave Tadfield with him. Leave the church.”</p><p>“Crowley? Oh, <em>pet</em>. I know, but it’s no use reliving things. You mustn’t blame yourself.”</p><p>“No, it’s...well, yes, I should have. Gone with him then,” he said. “But I...couldn’t.”</p><p>Tracy considered him a moment. Then she said softly, “All right. And why couldn’t you?”</p><p>“I’ve never been out! Not really, not... I don’t know how to… And... and what if...what if we get him out and I still can’t? And he sees me, finally, for what I am? Where would I...what…what would I do?”</p><p>Aziraphale pressed his hands over his face.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Tracy said. “What is that supposed to mean, sees you for what you are? What is it you think you are, pet, that’s so terrible?”</p><p>“I’m not—! How could I be what he’d want? How do I know if I can...if I can even function as a member of...as... out there? He wanted me to <em>leave</em>. And I wouldn’t. And now...even if I get him out and away, it would only be to be saddled with me, and I don’t even know if I could carry my weight. Don’t know if...if it’s what he’d want. Not now. Not after...”</p><p>“When Crowley told you to leave, he was trying to <em>protect</em> you, sweet. Of course he still wants you. Of course he does. He doesn’t think of you as something to be saddled with. That’s not it at all, I promise you. I’m only surprised it took me this long to see what was really between you.”</p><p>“But he—I have to get him out! Or it doesn’t...doesn’t mean anything. If that’s the best I can do, to leave him there, then...he...I don’t see how I could ever be anything else to him. Even if he did find me. But why would he bother?”</p><p>Tracy hugged him again and Aziraphale looked over her shoulder toward the window, watching as Angels and laity passed the church. He thought of clubs and fists driving into his stomach, Gabriel’s hand on Crowley’s throat, and Crowley, weak and bruised, begging him to leave. He did not cry.</p><p>Aziraphale spent much of the afternoon helping Tracy and Shadwell clean up and pack up their home. Every free moment he spent standing at the window, looking across at the church, knowing Crowley was there. As parishioners streamed in for Vespers, he thought of Miss Device. He did not see her there among them. But perhaps, if he could find her again...he hated to ask anyone for anything, to involve them with himself, but this was not for his sake, this was for Crowley. Miss Device did not wish the Demons dead. She had stepped in once, and the Angels had listened to her. Perhaps they would again.</p><p>As soon as he thought of it, he felt a fool. All this time he had wasted, during which who knew what Crowley might have endured. Perhaps there might be trust issues to resolve before she would listen to him, but it was worth a try, certainly.</p><p>“I need to find Anathema Device,” he announced.</p><p>Tracy and Shadwell exchanged a glance.</p><p>“We <em>have</em> met,” he explained. “Would it be...an awful inconvenience to you if I went now to look for her?”</p><p>“Might be at Vespers, the likes of her,” Shadwell said. “I dinnae think ye should try to go back to the church.”</p><p>“No, no, I wouldn’t,” Aziraphale said. He could stand outside, across the way, when church let out. Or he could return to the bookshop. Even if she wasn’t there, Newt would know where she was.</p>
<hr/><p>Once outside and on his own, he decided on the latter, and turned at the corner toward the bookshop. But partway there, he registered someone behind him, calling out.</p><p>“Ezra! Is that you? Sorry—<em>Aziraphale</em>?”</p><p>He turned, flinching, only to see Newt running toward him.</p><p>“I just left Vespers...went there to look for you,” he said. “Anathema and I—we thought perhaps you’d…” he shrugged, “well, we didn’t know, with the fire. I was...worried. Didn’t know how to find you, but I heard what happened. At the bakery.”</p><p>Newt had worried? About <em>him</em>? And still trusted him, even after everything?</p><p>“Where <em>is</em> Miss Device? I’d like to speak with her. It’s rather urgent, really.”</p><p>Newt’s face fell. He looked around, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet.</p><p>“Gone into the City, I think. Possibly out of Tadfield entirely. She’s...she’s helping the Dowlings and some of the Demons. They needed medical care.”</p><p>“And when will she come back? I’d never tell anyone, if she wanted to maintain her privacy, of course. Only, I needed to ask her if, well. I needed to ask for another favor. If she would be so kind.”</p><p>Newt shook his head. “I couldn’t say. It’s possible she won’t. Is it...is it anything I could help with?”</p><p>Newt sounded earnest, but Aziraphale could tell he hoped the answer was no. Aziraphale suspected that it was. Newt, a secular bookseller, would have no particular pull with the church.</p><p>“Not unless you think you can convince an Archangel to do something I’m afraid he doesn’t want to do.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t even know how to get an audience with an Archangel,” Newt said. “Sorry, mate. Anathema would be better, for sure. She’s got all the money and the family name. Can get an audience with whoever she wants, I’d imagine. But. Well, you know where my shop is. If you do need anything. That I can...can help with.”</p><p>“Right, no. I...I didn’t think so. But I…well, thank you for offering. And you’ve really no idea at all of when she might return?”</p><p>Newt frowned. “Well, I couldn’t say, really. But perhaps tomorrow? Perhaps the end of the week? But honestly, it was sudden. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned up in a month or two. Or just never came at all and sent me a letter asking me to come meet her.”</p><p>He gave an apologetic shrug.</p><p>“I’ll tell her you were looking for her if I see her.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, blinking quickly to keep himself from pressing his eyes closed in despair.</p><p>Newt nodded too. He waved awkwardly and made to keep walking. Aziraphale sighed and turned back toward Shadwell and Tracy’s, back toward the church.</p><p>The sky was darkening. Aziraphale focused on the bit of horizon he could see at the end of the road until he turned away from the church to return to Tracy and Shadwell’s. His chest ached. The Angels were out in full force, and they stood at every entrance he could see to both the gates and the church itself.</p><p>Tracy’s gate stood open, though Aziraphale was certain he’d shut it behind him when he’d left. Now as he walked up the little footpath, he could hear Shadwell’s brogue rising indistinctly from inside. He raised his hand to the doorknob, attempting to peer through the window, but he could see nothing but the reflected sunset, orange like flame.</p><p>“I’ve a mind to lock you up <em>right here</em>, knowing as I do. I’ve not forgot my Army training. Why don’t you tell me, Your <em>Holiness</em>, what did Her Eminence Michael have to say, eh? Knowing about your little Demon? You know, they don’t call them whore when you force them!”</p><p>Aziraphale flinched and froze. He drew several deep breaths and swallowed.</p><p>“How dare you?” said Gabriel’s voice, low, quiet. Dangerous. “You will tell me where he is, or—”</p><p>“I’ll nae tell you anything, you great raving pillock!”</p><p>Aziraphale could not be still, not any longer. Not if Shadwell or Tracy might be hurt protecting him. He wrenched open the door to find Gabriel and Shadwell standing, facing each other in the kitchen, Shadwell pointing one finger at Gabriel, standing so close he was nearly stabbing him in the chest.</p><p>Gabriel had drawn himself up and looked about to respond when Aziraphale entered. He stepped back from Shadwell and smoothed the pleated front of his dove gray cassock. He turned to Aziraphale.</p><p>“There you are,” he said. He smiled, though Aziraphale could detect the suppressed rage in his tight shoulders, the scornful lines of his face. “Are you ready to thank these...church employees for humoring you and come back to the church with me? Where you belong.”</p><p>“I—” Back to the church, to be locked again in his tower? Aziraphale felt a wave of dizziness.</p><p>“He’s nae goin’ anywhere with the likes of you!”</p><p>“I don’t understand. I thought—” Aziraphale began. There was something in Gabriel’s face that terrified him. But Crowley...if Gabriel took Aziraphale back, perhaps it would give him a chance to see Crowley, to do what he’d wanted to do the last two times he’d seen him—pick him up and run. This time, though, once they got somewhere Crowley would be safe, once he was sure Crowley was well, he’d leave. It was the only way to <em>keep</em> him safe. The only way to make sure.</p><p>Gabriel sighed. “Well, understanding’s not your strong suit. Come back home, Aziraphale.”</p><p>“Oh, I disagree. Aziraphale’s not one to misunderstand something like that,” Tracy said, stepping forward. “Understands more than most just from books. And thanks to you, he’s more like to think someone <em>doesn’t</em> want him around what does than the other way around.”</p><p>Gabriel turned a blank gaze on Tracy. Then he smiled, as if she hadn’t spoken.</p><p>“Come along then,” he said. Aziraphale wrenched away from Gabriel, but, clamping his lips together against Tracy’s frantic expression, against Shadwell’s bellows, he started to follow Gabriel from the house.</p><p>“I’ll be all right,” he whispered, wishing there was more he could say, a way he could explain. It seemed enough. Tracy crumpled, and Shadwell stopped in his tracks.</p><p>“I’ll...see that your clothes are returned,” Aziraphale added, stopping at the door, trying not to look at Tracy, her face pressed against Shadwell’s shoulder.</p><p>“Aye,” Shadwell said. “See that ye do, lad.”</p><p>But even Aziraphale knew that Shadwell did not care about the clothes.</p>
<hr/><p>The Guardians stood aside for them as they entered, their eyes suspicious on Aziraphale even as they nodded in deference to Gabriel. Aziraphale’s mind raced, his body tense. He might have to use it, he knew, might have to hurt someone. He did not let himself dwell on the way the thought made him feel. Did not allow himself to replay over and over the sickening way it had felt when Gabriel sank to the floor in front of him, the way Crowley had looked at him after, as if he was someone to be feared. Someone <em>Crowley</em> feared. If it was the only way to save Crowley, even if it made Crowley hate him, he would do it. He would do whatever needed to be done.</p><p>Guardians and Principalities lined not just every entrance and exit, but also the entrances to halls and stairwells, and every significant room: the nave, the vestry—Aziraphale could see them from the hall as Gabriel wrapped a hand around his upper arm and pulled him roughly inside. He wondered if they’d be stationed outside his tower room, and how he’d be able to resist if Gabriel tried to lock him there with Angels watching. He couldn’t let that happen. Especially not with Tracy gone.</p><p>But Gabriel did not start toward the tower.</p>
<hr/><p>As they moved toward the private, residential area of the church, the Guardians seemed to be posted at the ends of the hallways and any entrances to the residences. Aziraphale shuddered at how many of them there were, how many clubs and ropes, how many angry, strong bodies under the control of Gabriel and Sandalphon. He had no idea what he would do. What he could do.</p><p>But as they reached the floor where only Gabriel’s and Michael’s residences were, he noticed the difference right away. There were no Guardians at the top of the stair. The halls were empty.</p><p>Gabriel froze as if in a panic, then blundered forward, almost seeming to forget about Aziraphale, before reconsidering and whirling on him as if he were to blame. He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder and made to push him, but Aziraphale jerked forward, out of his grasp.</p><p>“Don’t get any ideas,” Gabriel said. “Walk ahead of me.”</p><p>“Why are you bringing me here?”</p><p>“I want to show you something. And then you’ll do me a favor. Maybe he’ll listen to you. And if he won’t, well...you can finally shut your stupid mouth and die already. It will be far easier to get rid of you in private.”</p><p>Aziraphale steeled himself. He was prepared to fight for Crowley, but fighting for himself was different. But then, he’d hardly be of any use to Crowley if he was gone.</p><p>“If you’ve <em>hurt</em> him—”</p><p>“What? What will you do?”</p><p>Satisfied with Aziraphale’s silence, Gabriel rolled his eyes and went on.</p><p>“I learned my lesson a long time ago. Twenty-five years ago, I killed <em>one</em> Demon, and found myself saddled with <em>you</em>. You think I’d risk killing another one? And one like that, with God knows how many bastards out there? I can’t take care of <em>all</em> of you. How would I look with my Church absolutely <em>overrun</em> with bastard Demons?”</p><p>They had come to a stop outside of Gabriel’s door, and Gabriel’s smile as he fished his keys out of his cassock and unlocked his door was sardonic, sly.</p><p>It took Aziraphale a moment to register what had been said. Gabriel’s hand was on the doorknob, but Aziraphale didn’t care, didn’t wait. He swallowed, gulping air as he tried to find words.</p><p>“You <em>killed</em> my <em>mother</em>? She was—”</p><p>“And <em>you</em> were nothing more than a Demon this whole time,” Gabriel said, pulling a parody of a sympathetic face. He pushed his door open and looked back at Aziraphale as they entered. “And like <em>does</em> find like, doesn’t it? I suppose that’s what it is. You’ve got no other ties. Nothing else to sneak up on me once you’re gone. But you’ve got some kind of hold over him I can’t seem to break, so either you convince him to give me what I want, or he’ll watch as I finally free myself from your existence. And <em>then</em>, I think, I’ll finally have <em>him</em> where I want him.”</p><p>Gabriel had not turned, had not seen what Aziraphale had already, as the door had opened, Crowley, pale and drawn, but sitting upright on a soft embroidered chair in soft, tight trousers and a borrowed gray shirt. As the door had opened he’d set down his mug of steaming tea, on an end table with a lighted oil lamp. Michael had risen from where she’d been sitting on the sofa. The bedroom beyond looked much as it had before, but with the bedclothes tangled. And there were Gabriel’s most resplendent silk and cashmere vestments and his ecclesiastical accoutrements—heavy jeweled gold and platinum pendants and rings—all spilled across the floor as if someone had been going through them. The place otherwise looked as it always had done.</p><p>As Gabriel turned, his face took on a silent snarl before he took in Michael’s presence.</p><p>“Gabriel,” she said, stepping toward him. “What on Earth?”</p><p>Crowley trembled, and Aziraphale ran to him, almost missing the way Gabriel rounded on Michael, seizing her shoulders as he knelt by Crowley, a soft “Oh,” escaping him as Crowley’s hands landed in his hair and tears sprang again to Crowley’s yellow eyes.</p><p>“Angel, let’s go,” he whispered. <em>Angel</em>...but the word sounded different now, and not only because Crowley’s voice was still so weak. <em>A Demon this whole time. </em>Aziraphale rose and Crowley stood slowly, but once on his feet, he seemed steady enough. The problem was Gabriel, still stood at the door shouting at Michael, who was shouting back. Aziraphale could not take in their words, not against the feel of Crowley’s hand in his, the nearness of their victory, before Gabriel reached over and picked up the cup Michael had been drinking from. He flung its hot contents into Michael’s face, and as she bellowed and flailed, and the cup smashed on the stone floor, he grabbed her arm and began dragging her from the doorway toward the stairwell.</p><p>“So I see you have a <em>method</em>,” she said, looking back at Aziraphale, who stood frozen. “Did you tell him? Did you tell him how you threw his mother down the steps? How you nearly drowned him in the fountain?”</p><p>Gabriel threaded his fingers into Michael’s hair and pulled. She winced, but did not scream.</p><p>Aziraphale gasped. He didn’t remember letting go of Crowley, but both hands flew to his mouth; he didn’t remember letting go of Crowley, but suddenly, Crowley stepped past him and threw his own tea at Gabriel, cup and all. Gabriel jerked back as it hit him with a wet <em>thwack</em> and clattered to the ground. Michael staggered away from him.</p><p>“Run!” Crowley choked out at Michael as Gabriel roared and started back inside his quarters, reaching for Crowley.</p><p>“No!” Aziraphale shouted. He flung himself at Gabriel. Gabriel’s eyes went wide. Aziraphale was dimly aware of Michael hesitating, then turning, disappearing down the hall as Gabriel’s hands closed around his throat. But he was not afraid. He was stronger than Crowley, and he could fight back. His hands pushed against Gabriel’s arms, forcing them apart, breaking his grip. He could reach for Gabriel’s throat, he realized. He could kill Gabriel. He could save himself—but if Crowley could get away now, he wouldn’t have to.</p><p>“Crowley, go!” he gasped out. He looked at him and saw him, standing frozen. He hoped Crowley would not try to jump in and help him. It would only end with Crowley even more hurt. Crowley’s body trembled, his face doing something complicated, but Aziraphale saw the moment he resigned himself to it, and looked away, unable to bear the sight of grief and desperation on his face. Yes, Crowley would let him do this. Crowley would get away, even if Aziraphale did not survive. Aziraphale didn’t want it to hurt, but it did. Suddenly, there was a whoosh, a roar of air, heat, a clatter, a flare of light. Gabriel’s grip loosened.</p><p>“You little—” Gabriel let go of Aziraphale, ran past both of them into the bedroom, where Aziraphale could now see the broken lamp rolling, leaping flames into Gabriel’s vestments, onto the bedclothes. He felt his loose clothing settling into place as he drew several unrushed, unobstructed breaths. Crowley had saved him. Instinctively, he reached for Crowley and they drew together.</p><p>Gabriel ran farther into the room, trying to gather his vestments, his jewels, his commendations, his face red and his voice strident but growing hoarser by the minute as the flames leapt up around him, spreading to the carpet, catching on the bed itself, now blocking his path to the door. It wouldn’t be long before the room’s entrance was completely obscured, and Gabriel’s only chance at leaving would be the window, more than ten, high-ceilinged stories up.</p><p>“Why doesn’t he run?” Azirpahale shouted over the crackle of flame. “Gabriel! You have to get out!”</p><p>Gabriel looked mad, stripping the ancient brocaded tapestries from the walls even as flames crept up them, drawing out from his box of holy relics a wooden sword which caught as embers flew to it and took root.</p><p>“Gabriel!” It was as if the Archangel were in a trance. But he looked up then, right at Aziraphale, and it was as if there was no one inside of him. The most terrifying thing was the familiarity of that gaze: there never had been anyone there at all.</p><p>Gabriel stared, his usually sleek hair flopping over his forehead. Still holding the sword, which lit up his face with eerie, darting orange against the darkness of his suite, he began to speak:</p><p>“<em>For sin shall not have dominion over me: for I am not under the law, but under grace.</em>”</p><p>“Angel, come <em>on</em>!” Crowley croaked, coughing. “We have...to go. If...this is how he wants—”</p><p>“<em>For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life.</em>”</p><p>Fire. Another fire. More people to warn. But an escape for Crowley. Aziraphale turned and squeezed Crowley’s hand.</p><p>“<em>The gift of God is eternal life</em>!” Gabriel roared. The sword flew from his hand past them into the room where they were, the blaze catching and spreading. It would not be long before it blocked their path to the door.</p><p>Crowley did not have to tell him again. They ran.</p>
<hr/><p>Crowley was weak. They’d barely made it to the end of the hall before he collapsed against Aziraphale, struggling for breath. Aziraphale held him up, guiding him to just keep moving, just this next step, then this one, then one more, and one more...</p><p>On the stairs, Guardians rushed up and past them, even as Aziraphale warned them of the fire. Then partway down, Crowley still leaning on him, the Guardians began rushing in the other direction: they had given up and were getting out. The fire was growing.</p><p>“We have to go faster, darling,” Aziraphale said, and before Crowley could answer, he lifted him and kept going. Crowley held on, trying to keep his arms and legs out of the way.</p><p>Outside, the church had already mostly cleared, and people stood on the edges of the churchyard and in the street beyond. An orange glow suffused the night air.</p><p>Aziraphale did not stop to look behind him at the only home he’d ever known as it burned. He spotted Michael standing at the edge of the crowd, Sandalphon beside her. He did not see Gabriel. He knew that even if he looked at every face, he would not.</p><p>He pushed through the crowd, and no one seemed to notice him, to think it was odd to carry someone out of a burning building, and the spectacle of it was nothing in the presence of a burning cathedral.</p><p>Something twisted in him. He’d thought before of burning the church, of escaping with Crowley that way. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. <em>Had</em> anyone been hurt?</p><p><em>Gabriel</em>.</p><p>Ought he to have done more to save him? Crowley’s head fell onto his shoulder as he started up Tracy’s path. There was no question that if he had it to do over, Aziraphale would do what he’d done again.</p><p>He hesitated, then opened the door quietly, still trying not to attract attention. Tracy and Shadwell were in the parlor, looking out the window at the blaze. Tracy leapt forward.</p><p>“Oh, dearie,” she said. She reached out, then drawing back as she seemed to realize Aziraphale might be better placed to hold Crowley, who had gone limp in his arms. She ran ahead to open the door to the bedroom where Aziraphale had slept and pull aside the covers. Aziraphale lay Crowley on the bed and was surprised to see that though his eyes were closed, his face was streaked with tears, and his body, which he’d thought limp with weakness or even sleep, seemed instead despondent with grief.</p><p>“Crowley,” he whispered. Crowley’s eyes squeezed shut, and now he shook. Tracy drew her lips together and backed away, shutting the door softly behind her.</p><p>“I’m sorry, angel,” Crowley said. “I’m so, so sorry.”</p><p>“No, Crowley. Oh, no, no, my dear. I’m the one who should apologize. I should have—”</p><p>“No, just...I didn’t mean...”</p><p>“I had no idea he was following me, dearest. I am so very sorry. Please believe me, I would never—”</p><p>“I know. ’S not...Never thought…”</p><p>Aziraphale felt something crash inside of him, felt something ascend.</p><p>“Are you all right? Did he hurt you? I mean, after—”</p><p>“No. No.” But Crowley was shaking, reaching for him, his hands close to Aziraphale’s, but not touching, as if he were unsure. As if he still wanted, but was no longer sure of what he could have. <em>Oh</em>. Tracy had been right. Aziraphale moved onto the bed and lay beside him. Gingerly, he reached out and wrapped one arm across him. Crowley sighed and pushed back against him. He’d once loved knowing he made Crowley feel safe. Even now Aziraphale couldn’t resist a kiss to his silky hair. It only smelled faintly of smoke. And he wouldn’t let Crowley out of his sight tonight at least. He could promise that to himself. Perhaps it would be all right. Perhaps he could still have this, after all.</p><p>“Will you stay with me?” Crowley whispered. “I know ’m not...much good like this.”</p><p>“Oh, Crowley—” Aziraphale felt a twist in his chest.</p><p>“ ’S not fun like...like this. But—”</p><p>“Of course I will,” Aziraphale said. <em>I love you.</em> “Of course I’ll stay. I’ll take care of you. Oh, my dearest. I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>
  <em>Not until you want me to.</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cw: veiled references to conversion therapy, vomiting, mentions of rape (no actual rape), derogatory terms for sex workers, death threats, choking, minor violence (no blood), implied character death (but you probably won't mind this one much).</p><p>As always, feel free to reach out on tumblr or discord (leilakalomi in both places) if you need to ask me questions about the warnings.</p><p>Thanks to madeofmydreams and ScrapBramble (Nymphalis_antiopa) for the beta read.</p><p>The next chapter will be a bit delayed, as I'm feeling under the weather and want to be sure to give them the ending they deserve.</p>
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